


DEATHSPELL - please comment! I need to know what needs improving

by Mizzykway



Category: Twilight, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22360927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzykway/pseuds/Mizzykway
Summary: Orphan Bella is found by the Cullens who claim to be her long lost relatives. Once at Thorncrest Manor she must uncover the truth behind their motives, the ghost begging her to leave, the story of creatures and ethereal beings at war with one another, over her?
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan, Jacob Black/Bella Swan, jake - Relationship
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter One

Prologue

Dearest Bella

I hope you will understand the nature of my introduction and what I am to request of you to accept in return for my rather brief explanation.

I was a close friend of both your mother and father. In fact your mother was so much more to me. She was like that of a sister. In short I fell in love with her step uncle, Theodore, a man thirty years my senior, which drew us apart. We seized contact and never saw one another again when your mother fled with your father. And it is to this day that I regret the mistake and what I have come to bear as loss as a consequence.

My deepest condolence goes out to you for their tragic deaths. And of course for your Aunt’s demise shortly thereafter. At the time, I’m afraid I did not know of your name to trace your whereabouts. It was due to an acquaintance of mine that I was fortunate to have found an article regarding a book museum in which you were clearly pictured.

You looked so much like your mother. It was difficult at first for me to believe in what I was seeing. I wondered if I was imagining you, because I still missed the person I expected you to be, the times we once shared that could never be replaced. 

If you would be so kind as to grant an old woman’s wish to meet with the only daughter of a woman I hold dear to my heart, I would like to invite you to visit me here in West Virginia for as long as necessary, or as little as you may require. 

I do so hope you will accept. I hope you will also forgive me for disrupting your life if you so choose to decline my offer. 

Though I believe you will understand the importance, which is why I have enclosed your plane ticket, first class.

Sincerely Yours.

Carmen Cullen.

Chapter One

The clock by my bed flashed 1:09, reminding me that I’d left behind Utah, with a bad feeling for good. What was I thinking?  
  
I brushed my teeth and flossed, keeping my towel wrapped around me as I searched my luggage for my Manoush striped bustle dress and Ksubi Sandals. Not that I limited myself to wearing only designer togs. I wore thrift store clothes and hand me downs too. Anything as long as it was faultless and durable. Today I just wanted to extravagant my look, probably because I looked so drab from my recent relapse into too many sleepless nights.

A knock on my door made me jump.

“Coming,” I yelled, struggling to strap on my sandal. The door sounded again as if they hadn’t heard me. I marched over with my one bare foot, finding Esme the Cullen’s gardener preparing to knock again as I answered.

“Oh.” She backed away. “My, you gave me a fright.” 

She didn’t look all that frightened. Maybe undernourished, in need of a few days sleep herself and surprised to see I was still here, but not alarmed. Not by me anyway.

“Are you alright?” She stepped closer. “We didn’t see you at dinner last night.” Her eyes darkened “We thought you might be unwell. In need of a doctor’s visit.” 

What? Hell no.

“I’m fine Esme. I just needed to catch up on some sleep.” I smiled. Three weeks of sleep since Carmen’s thoughtful, but commanding invite I wanted to add.

“I see.” She smiled back, her eyes returning to their soft brown glow as she peered down at my outfit. “You look very…” 

Now she did look afraid. Did I forget my bra? I looked down to check.

“Elegant...once again,” she said, with a subjective pause.

“Thanks.” Her awkwardness made me feel as though I was saying or doing something inappropriate. She suddenly slipped into one of her long gazes, one that probably needed me to click my fingers or splash cold water in her face.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, snapping out it with blurry eyes that were hugely expectant of a certain reply.

“Um, no, not really.” 

Her expectancy blanked. It must have been the wrong answer.

“I think I’ll just snack on something.” My hoard of Baby Ruths and Twinkies.

“Okay.” She sounded disappointed “I’m to tell you of a meeting with Carmen’s closest friends. They’re eager to meet you.”

“Now?”

“Afraid so,” she pitied. “They’re waiting for you in the drawing room.”

She gave me some sort of respective glance then turned to walk away from me, her head bowed as if she was weeping into her hands.

“I...” I let her slip away like a willowy leaf, trying in my mind to figure out a way to get out of Carmen’s meet the freak arrangement. But I had no choice. She probably would have brought them upstairs to me.  
I crammed on my other sandal and ate a few Twinkies, called Jared and explained in my most convincing voice that I was enjoying the arrangement full stop. Not that Carmen was less than to the point and lived in a refrigerator Mansion. I mean Manor.  
Downstairs I could hear a commotion of voices, mostly the female variety, with the baritone of one over talkative male, young, but maybe a sleaze ball. His voice dripped with slurred undertones, something I had a feeling he thought was charismatic.

“I’m sure Edward will soon come to his senses.” Laughed Carmen as I opened the door, stepping into a room that was jaw dropping. It looked like the film-set for Wuthering Heights or Scarlet O’Hara’s bedroom. 

“Ah, here she is,” exclaimed Carmen with her projectile bellow. “Here is Bella!” 

They were all likely middle aged but didn’t look a day over thirty. They had Carmen’s youthful appearance and a way of smiling without usual crease lines. Botox junkies for sure. They all ooh and ahhed and hugged me as if I had been elected president, calling me things like A True Apple Blossom and Tutti Fruiti Honey. 

The boy was too blond and synthetic looking in my opinion. His teeth were so white I could hardly see the lines in between them. Plus, his eager smile appeared to be another suggestion, that I like his forward approach. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Bella. Carmen’s told us a lot about you.” 

I couldn’t say the same. “Really? Like what?” 

They all watched while sipping tea from their dainty cups. A girl just behind the boy, who I hadn’t noticed, was scowling at me through canine looking teeth. Her hair was a dirtier blonde than his, almost red, her make-up too peach and drawn with what looked like Crayola.

“How you’re an artist. Have your own bookstore and survived a brutal orphanage,” he explained. 

The girl harrumphed behind him. 

Real nice I thought, shame Carmen had the first two incorrect and the last overstated, or was that her way of twisting the truth to how she liked it? Did society and class matter to a woman with only an inheritance as her cash-load? 

Carmen smiled at me as if I was getting along with the Pope.

“So, what’s your name?” I asked him when we sat down and had a chance to talk without an audience. They chatted on gregariously amongst themselves, sharing their remarks on the Minister’s sermon or their groceries for the day. 

“Jasper. He smiled, big and blinding.

He talked mostly after that. I allowed him too. I could tell we had nothing in common. His interests, without my asking, were clearly his preened looks and fast cars and faster girls, with an ambition to work for playboy, maybe as Hugh Heffner’s stair lift.

“Rosalie have you introduced yourself?” said a woman with tight peroxide curls. Her cheeks so full they looked made of pulp. 

Rosalie with the heavy face paint and devil spawn eyes came over to the table and plopped herself onto the edge of a couch, a full wine glass in her hand instead of the tea, and an unlit cigarette rather than the pecan pie popping in and out of her mouth. 

“I have eyes,” she answered sourly, sipping on her wine in between flaunting them at me with some sort of vaporised venom. It actually hurt my eyes to look at her for too long.

“It’s impolite not to at least say, hello,” encouraged the woman, with a sly smirk I found unnecessary.

“Lay off, Mom.” She cringed, standing to walk to an open window and light up her cigarette.

Jasper was enjoying her discomforted arrogance. He turned to glance at me like I had room raided and found a secret. He winked at me as Carmen drew in our attention. “Now children, you may leave to wander by yourselves.” 

“Yes, Jasper, do be a gentleman and escort Bella for a walk,” said another woman with flaccid lips. I think it was his mom. She had the same 10000-watt smile.

“Sure thing,” he said, rising.

“Oh, I’m good, thanks.” 

Escort? With a parasol and face fan too? It wasn’t 1918. Girls could take walks by themselves. 

“Nonsense,” they all jeered in unison. 

“Run along,” said Carmen, smiling at her friends. “We won’t keep you from a more intimate discussion.” 

They all giggled like mischievous schoolgirls.

I didn’t recall telling Carmen I needed her to do any matchmaking. How did she know I didn’t have a boyfriend back home, that I wasn’t engaged or set to get married? I guess I even looked single.

Jasper lifted me by the arm. I had no choice but to let him.

“Well...,” said Rosalie from the window, puffing out smoke, probably as a way of raising a brow at our forced union. “The competition could get fierce.” She sneered to herself.

Carmen tensed at the words. The others sipped excessively, for the first time, keeping quiet.

“Off you go,” Carmen said.

Jasper eased me out the door before I could ask to speak to her alone, ask if what I saw in her was a wrangled panic. 

Stepping outside though, I was glad to be back in the warmth of a gentle sunlight. We talked, but it was mainly, Jasper, and my head bobbing up and down to his every self-explanatory story about why he was so great at achieving so many things in a short length of time.  
He could ride a plane, a buffalo, a horse, maybe even a lion. He could Jet Ski, snow board in the Swiss Alps, which he said he did every year, without forgetting to mention his father owned a ski-ing lodge in Zermatt. 

I didn’t know where we were heading. It was a one way street with a thicket of shrubs beside narrow lanes and even narrower footpaths.

‘Have you met Edward?’ 

I thought it was a strange question to suddenly blurt out after his own homage. I hadn’t, since the boy from the balcony turned out to be Emmet the douche.

“No.” I didn’t have much to say on a no show, and that went for all of them, which made me wonder why he wasn’t asking about the rest of them so eagerly.

“He hates being called Ed or Eddy by the way. Anthony Mason are his middle names.” 

Whatever.

“He’s a good friend. Though I should warn you. He can be difficult if you stand in his way.”

“As in what? Literally?” I laughed. 

He stayed boringly serious. “Just don’t get it twisted. He means well, he just has a hard time showin it. If he blanks you, I wouldn’t take it to heart.” 

The guy sounded like a complete moron. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” I couldn’t have cared less. I was pretty good at blanking people too.

“But he has qualities you know. Things most people wouldn’t consider.” 

I was beginning to wonder a little more about their friendship. He must have seen me coming to the conclusion.

“I’m just saying is all.” He shrugged. “I don’t want you hatin the guy before you get to know him. Now that’s all I’m saying.” 

“Okay.” I smirked. “Whatever you say.”

“Listen.” He stopped walking. “You wanna grab a drink? Maybe a bite to eat someplace?”

“If you want.” I didn’t really care either way what we did, as long as he stopped yapping on about the divine but miser Edward. Oh...and his less than hidden talents. 

He searched his pockets. “Dammit. I must have dropped it my wallet.” He shook his pants, as if it might have slipped into his boxers. “Look, you mind staying here while I search for it down the road. It mustn’t have gone far.” He stepped away before I could answer him. “Great, just stay here okay.” 

He ran away and left me standing by a pay phone and a great view of the pure wilderness, just the cattle strolling the fields and a few crows cawing on a wood gate.  
There was no-one else around. I didn’t even have change to call anyone, not that I knew the number to the Manor.

Jeez what a blag. How could he drop a wallet and not see or hear it clump to the ground? Did he even drop a wallet? Was he playing some cheap trick to leave me out here deserted?  
I’d known him for like two minutes. Who knew what he was capable of? I was stuck on a road with no traffic or other people crazy enough to take a sweltering walk on the dumb side.  
I decided to go after him, see if I could help him find it. At least be with someone rather than stranded.  
I slipped off my new sandals half way. They were beginning to dig into my toes, and high fashion meant bigger blisters. But then I heard a voice call from behind me. It sounded like Jasper. Although I wasn’t sure how since he’d headed the other way. There was no one behind me, just sky and more sky and a lonely road to vast cornfields.  
I turned and walked faster, the heat drying out my mouth and making me thirsty. Then something thumped into me and lifted me off the ground. Hands grab my waist and cushion my fall to the asphalt.  
When I opened my eyes, I was on my back and dizzy, my head pounding as I tried to lift the weight of someone crushing my shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Are you okay?” said a male voice. It wasn’t Jasper’s. It was too sincere. 

I stretched my eyes open to look at who was holding me. A face came into my watered down vision. Young and handsome, with hair a chocolate brown and matching eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he kept saying. “I didn’t see you there.” He curled in his lips and lifted my dress to inspect the graze on the back of my leg. I had to push it back down to gain back some modesty.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, now in a reserved tone.

I just shook my head, unable to differentiate the difference between feeling self-conscious or maybe still shell-shocked.

“Are you here alone?” Concern was so rife in his tone I had to make myself speak out of guilt.

“I’m okay,” I muttered, unable to look him in his impressive eyes. He sat back on his heels and observed me like he didn’t believe me.

“You sure look fine,” he said, a little too dreamily. “You’re acting kinda strange though.” 

The accent wasn’t Virginian I noted, more Californian if I was to guess. His looks were a good ad for a place with lots of sea, sand and bouncing beach balls.

“You just ran into me,” I said, finding my voice.

He held out a hand. He was even smirking. “Let me help you up.” He lifted me slowly, but with a firm grip. Although his fingers were rough, his palms were ultra soft. I had to pull away once we were finally standing. He was taking a long time to let go of me.

“Can I walk you home?” he offered, placing his hands in his back pockets.

“I’m waiting…for someone,” I admitted, somehow reluctant. 

He nodded as if he was thinking of what else to say. “Then do you mind if I stay with you until they turn up? I don’t think a girl like you should here alone.”

A girl like me? What kind of girl was I? Was it a good or a bad thing? Why did I even care? He persuaded me to accept his help again. I had to lean into him as I sort of hobbled to sit on a low brick wall, breathing in the likable scent of him that was musty, but sweet, like gasoline and liquidized sugar.  
I edged away as soon as I mounted what began to ache my entire butt, watching him play with a gold button on his sleeve with the initial “J”, as we waited without so much as a loud breath. I suddenly couldn’t wait for Jasper to come back.

“So are you from town?” I began. The “mooing” of cattle was beginning to get to me.

“No, El Monte.” 

Ha. I was right.

“You?”

“Salt Lake City.”

“Sounds neat.”

“It is,” I said, over enthused with my pathetic homesickness. 

He turned his head and smiled at me briefly “So have you been here long?”

I shook my head. “This is my second day.” 

He laughed at that. It was a nice sound. “And you’re missing home already?” 

“Aren’t you missing yours?” I pretended to pick something from my nail.

He stopped turning his button. He also stopped smiling. “There’s nothing to miss.”

“Why are you here anyway?” 

Silence. 

“...If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Problem with the folks,” he said after a time, looking ahead and chewing on his top lip, somehow appearing all the more handsome during the meaningful pauses. 

“So how you likin Blackville so far?” he asked, uplifting his voice.

I shrugged, unable to comment.

“I guess when you’ve seen it from here, you’ve seen about all of it?” He chuckled soundlessly.

“Is there much else to see?” I doubted it.

“No.” He laughed, crinkling his eyes and smiling really wide and crooked. I couldn’t help, but admire the geniality of it. The way it looked real cute on him. Crap. What was happening? Why was I even thinking that?

“So where are you staying?” I asked to try and lower my blood pressure clouding up my dense brain.

He stopped laughing all of a sudden, his eyes darting ahead to become lost someplace else.

“I’m staying at a...uh...Manor,” I confided, just to prove I wasn’t rubbernecking into his business. He just tapped the heels of his worn-out Converse.  
Maybe I sounded like a total brag. Though if he had to live at Thorncrest, he would have known how damn cold it was, how even plain ugly in some parts.

“Thorncrest right?” 

“Yeah. How did you.--”

“It’s the only Manor. There’s no-one here that doesn’t know about it. I live close-by.” 

“By yourself?”

He nodded “It’s the best way.” 

“You’re right.” Not that I knew what it was like to live with people you could call family. Until maybe now. He was right though, alone was best.

“Bella,” yelled Jasper, panting up the road with his shirt hanging out of his jeans. “It’s no use, I couldn’t find it.” He jogged toward me then bended over to hold his knees and blow out through his lips. I didn’t bother to see how he was; from where I was sitting he was still capable of looking up my dress. He looked taken aback when he finally set his eyes on...shoot, I didn’t know his name, and he was getting ready to walk away.

“Hey, thanks for...staying with me.” I grabbed his arm then let go just as randomly.

“Anytime,” he said, glancing over at Jasper who was staring as if to propose some type of male testosterone contest, or at least hurtle him to the ground.

“I’m Bella by the way,” I said, this time trying to look him directly in his cool, green eyes. It made his mouth slant into the smile I was beginning to like too much.

“Jacob. But call me Jake.” 

Did he think we were going to be seeing each other again for that to happen? I sure hoped so.

Jasper cleared his throat. “Are you ready to go?” He sounded affronted, not even bothering to ask me why I was bleeding.

When I turned back, Jake had walked away in the other direction, without a goodbye or a real confirmation I would see him again. My heart slinked down to my stomach. My ears muffled out the Jasper grovelling at my side as we walked for what felt like a lifetime back to the dreaded coldness of the Manor.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

I had taken a shower before joining the Cullen’s for dinner. 

The dining room was slightly warm due to a small fireplace burning under the marble mantelpiece. It was even inviting, with its lick of burgundy paint on the grooved walls and oil paintings hanging of a land much like the one I’d ventured into, lustrous and green and roaming with cattle.  
My nerves were on end to meet the rest of the household. Although my curiosity dampened at the introduction to Emmett, who was short and stout with matte brown hair combed neatly back on his abnormally large head. He briefly acknowledged me as I walked into the room. As expected, he wasn’t a sight for sore eyes, more of a sight you could do without. Anyone would have thought he despised my visit. But I couldn’t see how, since he’d only just met me. Still, his aggressed look in my direction had to be counted for something weird about him. Bree though was sweet and attentive for a child, with glossy, brown hair pulled back into two ponytails that framed her pudgy face. She was slightly heavier than I imagined.  
“I love your ring.” She beamed, grabbing my hand to take a closer look. It was a large ruby with a crown of gold that folded around it like leaves.  
“Thanks.” I smiled. “It was my Aunt Lorraine’s.”  
Carmen stopped fussing with her cutlery to take a look too.  
“It was found on a necklace around my neck when I was a baby. It was the only other thing apart from a photograph that was left with me after the fire.” I hadn’t told anyone that about myself. Somehow saying it aloud made it all the more real that I’d been alone to fend for myself when my mother’s half sister, Lorraine, died in a house fire not long after my parents’ left me with her.  
“It’s a stunning piece,” Carmen remarked, then busied herself with arranging her cutlery.  
“Is it real?” Bree asked, regaining my attention. She slurped on her apple juice.  
“I think it’s twenty carat gold. I’m not sure if the ruby is real.”  
Bree scrunched up her nose, unimpressed. I guess the rich had it all to be interested for long.  
“How did my grandfather come into so much money?” It felt the right time to delve deeper about her inheritance, which was technically also my mine, what with Theodore being my Great Uncle.  
“His great, great, great grandfather was a successful banker,” Carmen replied distracted, arranging the flowers in a large vase by the window.  
“So they didn’t buy land on the cheap and employ farmers to grow cotton to sell?” I asked, kind of disappointed it wasn’t something more interesting  
“Don’t you mean slaveholding?” Bree retorted.  
“What else?” Emmett said with a grunt.  
“No just banking,” Carmen piped in “A few of his ancestors also entered into the tailoring business.”  
“You might have something in common with Edward,” said Bree all of a sudden.

Not him again.

“Really? Whys that?” I asked out of plain duty, taking another slice of fish and spoonful of mash potato.

“He’s an art student like you.” She looked over at Emmett’s frown with a devious grin. 

Why did I get the feeling everyone was trying to make me like this Edward? Flaws or not?

“What type of art?” My attention began to be more on the conversation than the food. If Edward was the only person my age I would have anything in common with, it had to be a bonus to my trip.

“Architecture,” answered Carmen. “As well as a variety of other things,” she said less approvingly.

I wondered what the other things could be. Mechanic? Construction? Something she found lower class and filthy.

“Performing Arts.” Bree chose to fill in the gap that was getting to large for me not to question.

So Edward was an actor. Well aspiring to be anyway. He had to be fun to be around, larger than life, or maybe one of those silent types that came alive in front of the camera or on stage. Shy and discreet in manner.

Carmen looked abhorred by the reveal. Either that or she had swallowed a fish bone. “He has many talents,” she added, as if to make up for what she thought he lacked in the performance side of his interests.

“Has he performed anywhere yet?” 

I could hear Emmett grit his teeth, trying to bear my idle comments.

“Not yet,” said Bree, laughing as if I was an idiot. “He has to get into practise first, and then he’ll be in theatres, TV screens, cinemas all over the world.”

Bree was supportive. Maybe even a little deluded at the prospects of reaching stardom. But I suddenly found myself imagining his face, every detail of it down to the muscles in his fingers. Although I had to admit it wasn’t for the first time. I couldn’t seem to help it. His name sprang out different versions of him in my mind; tall, lithe, strong, sensitive.  
I wasn’t sure why at first, but now I could see it was because he had a presence even behind the name. Every time it was spoken, I got a shake of something wake me out of myself, as if from a hazy dream where I was doing the motions in life and speaking when something was asked of me, only to realise that up until hearing his name, I hadn’t really been listening to anything at all. Not really been involved and in the moment.

“Sure,” I said, catching everyone stare at me.

“You can ask him more when he arrives home.” Smiled Carmen, cleverly disguising her disappointment at the lack of his appearance. “I’m sure he will be delighted,” she added, seeming overjoyed by something else.

“Now just eat,” grumbled Emmett, sniffing at the Berry cobbler being served on a silver platter.

***

After dinner Carmen took Bree to her piano lessons. Emmett left without a word to anyone, and Esme washed the pots. As for the meal, it had been draining. No one at the table had acted normal. Not even slightly. Carmen had fussed and fidgeted and spoke in short spurts to rattle anyone who would listen. Bree observed then criticised every comment. Emmett was the rudest jerk on the planet and Edward sounded like he was going to be everything I would hate: arrogant, complex, too dignified and an ass. I was confused and irritated. It was my first day and everyone was trying to sabotage it.  
Esme watched me sulk at the kitchen table as she handed me a hot cup of milk and homemade walnut cookies as an added treat. She knew a way to my ever breaking heart. Or maybe she really was conspiring to fatten me.  
“You look upset,” she said, handing me another cookie, her face turning sullen.  
“Has my cooking made you ill!?”  
“No,” I blurted. “No ... it was delicious,”  
She smiled but it looked as strained as mine felt.  
She leaned back in her creaking chair and brushed her hair back under her hairnet. She looked tired and was less ... bouncy. Her daydreaming at the table vouched for that. I had the urge to tell her how I was feeling. How everyone’s behaviour had rattled me, too much to the point of wanting to throw myself on my bed and sob for the next two hours solid. How lame?  
But I think she could see it written all over my face. Maybe that’s why she didn’t ask. It was the same reason why I didn’t ask her why she looked so self-reflective.  
“I better clear the table she said,” after a long but easy silence.  
“I’ll help.”  
Carlise the Cullen’s gardener was still out in the garden which looked more like a state park. After helping Esme clear most of the dining table, I paid him a visit, anything to take my mind of the degrading dinner. Besides, I needed to breathe in some more fresh air and clear my stupid thoughts of imagining Edward, his eyes, and possibly stone cold stares, the way my heart skipped a beat in fear of bumping into him on the way to the garden.  
I had to practically beg Carlise to let me get my hands dirty. He finally let me do some deadheading and earthing up. He even let me apply mulch for weeding, something that wasn’t as easy as it looked. Everything had to be nurtured in a specific way. One slip and I’d destroy a plant for life.

"That's it, you have to press with your knuckles," Carlise advised me as I kneaded what smelled like horse manure. "Now spread with your fingers."  
I did, squishing a worm in the process. I didn't squeal, not out loud. For some reason, I didn't want him to think I couldn't handle a bit of slime with my training.  
"Right, then, we should leave it to rest," he said, brushing his hands together. Working up a sweat planting flowers was kind of rejuvenating, I thought. "So, how you finding things so far?" Carlise asked.  
"Good, thanks."  
He gave me a sideways glance. Could he sense my occasional unease? My concerns? "Eventually," I added.  
"Oh?" He raised his bushy eyebrows and took a plant from the wheelbarrow to place it in the bed.  
Maybe I should have said yes.  
"Are you not settling in?" he asked, concerned. I definitely should have said yes.  
"I'm settling in just fine, thanks, Carlise." "Are you sure you're not uncomfortable?" Was he referring to the cold conditions?  
Something told me it was best not to complain about it. I seemed to be the only person who felt it.  
"Everything's just perfect," was my overstatement.  
Carlise nodded and began clearing his things, becoming distant and less talkative like he had in the car. "I should head home," he said, getting to his feet and brushing down his pants.  
I did the same, wincing from a cramp in my left foot.  
"Bella," Esme called from the kitchen doorway. "Bella, Carmen's back! She wants to see to you!"  
Carlise smiled like he found it difficult. "You better go see what she wants." He patted my arm and walked away with his tool bag.  
Did he live alone? Or did he have a wife waiting for him?  
I felt the need to ask. I needed to be sure he would be okay and that he wasn't heading home to an empty house to sit alone in the dark. For some reason, I felt sorry for him.  
He turned and waved. "See you tomorrow, Isa—" He frowned. "Bella." Was he about to say my full name, but found it inappropriate?  
With another wave, he exited the gate behind the drained, kidney-shaped pool. I tried not to feel concerned about him. We'd only just met.  
Once inside, Esme insisted I went to the study to speak to Carmen before taking a shower. I had to take my shoes off since they were caked with dirt.  
As I walked barefoot into the derelict hallway, I shivered from the cold hitting me like a slab of ice. The fine hairs on my arms stood on end.  
What was with this place?  
As for Carmen, I had to prepare myself to have another one-on-one conversation. It wasn't that I wasn't fond of her anymore. I just didn't fully understand her sudden reluctance to talk more freely about my parents. I hoped she hadn't brought me here under false pretenses. "Is that you, Bella?" Carmen called out.  
I didn't reply, just stepped out from the shield of the door to give her a waning smile before I sat in the small chair opposite her at the desk.  
She was writing something into a notebook, her hand poised like a classical poet's. "How are you finding your stay, dear? Is there anything I can help you with?"  
She'd been acting erratic and unlike herself since I'd arrived. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but couldn't find the courage.  
"I'm okay," I said, forcing another smile.  
"Did you enjoy the gardening with Carlise?" She placed her fountain pen into a black and gold stand, her eyes monitoring me.  
"I did, thanks."  
"Darling, tell me the truth. Has my absence this evening bothered you?"  
"No," I said, confused by the blunt question.  
Why would it? Why was I unsure how to answer her?  
Carmen's smile grew suspicious rather than joyous. "Well I shall try and limit my commitments to a degree that suits you. For now, I am afraid that some of them cannot be avoided due to the length of time I have spent visiting you in Utah."  
She retrieved her fountain pen and continued writing. She sounded tired and even annoyed at me, yet I didn't understand why.  
She stopped writing to look searchingly at my face. "Bella, again, I do apologize for not wanting to discuss..." She cleared her throat, "...Charlie and Renee."  
I had a feeling the way she kept her mouth open, she wasn't yet finished.  
"In Utah it was fine, but here it is somewhat unbearable. I know this may come as a disappointment, but I am afraid I am going to need more time." Her voice broke on the last sentence.  
"You've told me plenty so far," I assured her. "And I'm here for quite a while. There'll be plenty of time to talk about them."  
She let out a long, weary sigh and sat back. She was quiet for a moment, just inhaling and exhaling deeply. When she looked at me, her eyes were wet and set to break my happy façade.  
"I can reassure you of one thing," she rasped. "You are indeed much like Renee.  
Remarkable, unquestionable."  
"Thanks," I muttered, wanting to fill the awful silence.  
"No, thank you, Bella." She smiled, bringing back some color to her cheeks. "Thank you for, in a way, bringing Renee back to Thorncrest. Thank you for coming home."

***

I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t count on keeping my eyes staying closed. If could have see through touch alone, I would have known how important the four walls were to someone else, at a time before I was even considered. It was something that made me feel nervous, a part of something I had no right to sleep in.  
The room also seemed to transform with no lights on, making me claustrophobic and uncomfortable, as if it turned evil, against me and my body lying lifeless in my oversized bed. The temperature was so close to freezing, I think it was icing the tips of my eyelashes, hardening the sheet so that it felt sharp against my goose-flesh skin.  
I couldn’t take it. Why was the room so cold? Why was the whole Manor built like some igloo? Couldn’t they afford heating? Of course they could. Carmen probably had enough money to feed the whole of Haiti and neighbouring war veterans in need of shock treatment.  
I switched on the bedside lamp and whipped back my stiff sheet’s, planting my feet on a cold floor that cut through even my thick mohair socks. I made my way to the closet filled with the extensity of my luggage. My pressed dresses were hanging; my jump suits and shorts were clipped and divided into sections. My camisoles, jeans and trousers were stacked on a top shelf beside my tower of hats.  
I grabbed all that I had to warm me, including the borrowed turtleneck sweater from Bree and two jog pants I’d brought along for quick runs to burn off any excessive calories. So far, I think I needed a three days jog to make up for the junk Esme was feeding me like carrot sticks.  
Once I was layered and pretty much constricted from walking, I headed back to my bed and took out my journal from under the mattress. The moleskin cover was scuffed and faded from the heat of my many placed cappuccinos, but it was still flexible for bending during stressful situations. The yellow pages were bitty and more beige, but durable enough not to fade the ink.  
Not that it mattered all that much. There wasn’t anything useful to grab from my brain spew. The unlined pages were spoiled with chunky doodles and my version of Matt Damon as hand a Muppet, how Bourne Identity gave you satiric piles from having to sit with a roommate that watched the whole box set too much.  
The journal was a way of cleaning the slate my physiatrist had said when he gave it to me. He also talked a load of crock for cash, but I still took it everywhere with me, seen as though I was a sucker for freeloading gifts.  
Once I’d collected everything, I switched off my lamp to conserve the energy for any heat appliances that must have failed to work since the 1700’s, then made my way down the browbeat hallway, only to experience the pressed in feeling again, as if I was entering through a cave, a door to complete darkness or an open hungry mouth. The tips of the frames hanging on the walls were like a row of teeth within a meaty smile.  
I was just being stupid. There were no teeth or eyes wandering my arms and legs. No nose bumping my back and thighs. I was just scaring myself into running back the other way, to my room, where I could be a good guest with no undisciplined urges to look around and treat any room like my own. A real home, where I could think, drink milk and cookies, make hot cocoa and toast my feet on a fireside couch, read Elle magazine and note down my next Loui Viton purchase in my journal instead of my deeper feelings.  
There was nothing to write about anyway, even if there had been, I wouldn’t have expressed it in writing. Not when someone could have found my secrets and weaknesses. I was no sucker for that.  
The stairs creaked like hell. They were so ancient, I had to hold the banister and lift myself to stop the freaking loud wood squawking like a parakeet.  
When I finally reached the bottom, I made my way to the kitchen as timidly as I could, raiding the refrigerator for snacks and gunk I could have in one mouthful. I found out too late that there was too much inside to begin. Things were piled up on top of one another. The ribbon boxes of mouth watering cakes were too far back for me to reach even with a stick. The row of home-made jello over stacked the door shelf, along with butter, cream and…a vintage red wine, most likely preserved for a hundred years and tasting of a world replenished and savoured.  
I grabbed the pre-opened bottle and took a wine glass drying upside down beside the sink, filled it to the brim and sipped in-between generous refills. It tasted decadent, a sweetness hitting the back of my throat, so that it heated me from the inside, melting the chill from my bones.  
I filled the glass again, keeping in mind that I didn’t want to get bombed on my first night, just warmed enough to relax and find a moment to sleep. But as I crept out of the kitchen, I idly stubbed my toe in the hallway. I silently yelped, spilling some of my drink as I hurried into the drawing room, a place like the Arctic, even with my winter clothes and the hand mittens I’d found in my pockets.  
I pressed the journal to my chest and blew at the tips of my fingers that grated against the wool lining. When I found a patchwork blanket folded on the couch, I draped it over my shoulders and wrapped it around me, then sat in a corner behind another couch that was tall and square and tassel swamped.  
Placing down my glass of wine, I tried to open the leather bind of my journal, feeling my fingers itch and burn at the same time with probable chilblains. But I had to ignore the stiffness and pull at the lid of the pen with my teeth and spit it out onto my lap. 

Sipping on the wine to soothe myself, I tried to think of anything but roasting fires and heated blankets, the hot volcanic pools in New Zealand, even though they could have brought me comfort through visions, helped me to self-place with so called virtual realisation and all that hippie stuff my roommate Jolie praised too much.  
Yet after that great plan, whenever I thought of log fires all I could imagine were avalanches and the abominable snowman, icebergs instead of hot logs and Jared’s pea soup. So far “pneumonia”, was the only thing I’d written in my journal.  
A set of keys jingled at the door to the Manor. Someone was unlocking it and pushing through to take less than quiet steps down the hall and into the kitchen, treading just as audibly on the massed floor. Their impatient hands opened and closed drawers, then poured a glass of water from the sink.  
I tried to stand, but the drawing room door flung open, leaving me with no choice, but to fall back and huddle into the corner again, watch the silhouette of a person storm into the room and look around for something they clearing were beleaguered not to find. When the figure abruptly stopped pacing to stand in the middle of the room, they held their head in their hands, revealing lean shoulders and muscular arms. The breathing became ragged and intense.  
Without even seeing the face I knew they were frowning. That the heavy sigh, which aptly followed, wasn’t due to tiredness, but maybe the diminished state of having a clear conscious, of feeling at ease.  
Their hands fell to the sides and swung for a while, as if purposely, and that each brisk movement was a way of measuring time. I didn’t want to be in the room anymore. It felt wrong to see it all happen. Whoever it was, they had too much of something. Too much emotion and restraint. I could even feel the intensity. The stance belonged to someone male and enduring, but tortured by something I couldn’t see. Only taste, so that it heated me like the wine, left me as agonizing cinders.  
I had to blink my eyes closed as a light illuminated the entire room, causing my vision to zig zag out of control with streaks of green and yellow. When it faded, I could see the red walls and the embroidered couch, the milk white furniture and the glass cabinets holding fine jewel ornaments sparkling like authentic diamonds.  
Most of all, I could see the person standing directly below the chandelier. Captivating was one way to describe who was clenching front peaks of his raven dark hair, stunningly handsome definitely another, heart stopping head to head with impossibly surreal.  
I looked away only to glance back at him, take another peek at what some may have called too perfect, a beauty in masculine form, desirable to anyone with a pulse. Mine seemed to be hurting my wrists, twitching in my throat and bathing me in a vertiginous heat. Why did my heart feel like it wanted to shrink?  
He moved and sat on the couch that was facing me. I slunk lower so that he wouldn’t see me, hear my heart create weird purling noises. When I opened my mouth, the air seemed to have gathered dust. I covered my mouth and sunk until I was almost lying down.  
I never wanted ice so much in my life, an avalanche to crash down and surround me, put a stop to what I was feeling. I was afraid yet anchored to the pain of losing it too soon. I couldn’t drift my eyes away from a face tortured, but phlegmatic, courageous, but just as passionless, with skin so white it was almost a shimmer with every thought contained within him as a staggering grimace. His lips were an abraded red, parted open, as if he wanted to speak.  
Did he know I was watching? Could he sense me? Did he want to break whatever tension was in the air? Could he hear how I was shaking like a leaf and felt just as pliable?  
I moved by mistake and watched my pen drop from my lap and roll toward him like an action reply turn and turn in my head.  
I bit down on my gloved hand and chewed on my knuckles that could no longer feel the strike of my teeth. My jaw locked as my eyes bulged from the prospect of facing the one who was unaware of his bizarre yet powerful affect on me.  
The pen stopped conveniently by his boot. He looked at it with a tensed upper lip, his high cheeks bones ground fine as he sucked in both his cheeks. He knew I was there now. He knew exactly where I was too, where I was sitting, maybe even how I looked from a side glance.  
Yet he wasn’t lifting his gaze from the pen to look at me. He wouldn’t lift his head and make the journey for eye to eye contact. I slunk back relieved at first, until I wondered why he was refusing. Why he was he taking his time to face me?  
Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he assumed the pen rolled from no-one in particular. Maybe I could just creep out and he wouldn’t even see me. But as I moved, his eyes shot up, capturing me, as if his eyes were a cage, their blackness a hole I had slipped right through and disappeared.  
His stare was confident. He never blinked. I don’t even think his pupils dilated. His eyes were too dark to see the separation.  
But he became all the more fascinating. His face was too indescribable for words. He had to be Edward. To be honest, I had guessed the moment he entered the room. Just like his presence, his name had a fearful enticement, a radiating lift like the unreachable sky.  
I clenched my robe and opened my mouth to try and introduce myself, rather than just sit there like a human pillow. 

“I’m…Bella.” My voice sounded so whispery, I doubted he even understood me.

He didn’t say anything, just turn his head away to look hard into the log fireplace.  
I gave myself two minutes before choosing to move to retrieve my pen. I wanted to leave him understandably alone. He didn’t seem in the mood for company. He seemed in the mood to punch me.  
I crept over to his feet as quietly as I could without disturbing him. When I reached my pen, I stretched out my mitt-less hand to grab it. Only his boot moved to the side to lay his thick sole upon the tip, capturing me, just like the pen, trapping me beneath his far from amiable gaze.

“You should leave,” his voice simmered through me. 

“I was just about to,” my voice wavered.

“The Manor,” he strained out.

“But I’ve only just got here,” I shook, feeling unusually jittery as well as peeved at his insolence. How dare he be so mean.

“Then all the easier it’ll be,” he breathed, ragged.

He looked away, seeming discomforted, as if I had caught him in an act of something indecent.

“Easier for whom?” I asked, returning to my normal senses.

He ignored me.

“Easier for whom?” I repeated, with a sharpness I wanted him to account.

He rose from the couch and walked over to the stack of wines by a glass cabinet. I grabbed the pen and stood to my feet quickly to make an exit, allowing him to drown any sorrows from his rude, luscious head in.

“Stay for a drink,” he said, as I reached for the door handle.

“Excuse me?” I frowned. His tone was even soft.

He looked to the side of him, to my empty glass on the floor.

“You may as well finish what you’ve started,” he said a little too husk in breath, as if the notion held some hidden meaning.

“Starting was plenty.” My voice didn’t sound as strong as it should have. 

He turned and latched me onto his shimmering dark eyes. For a moment I thought they had spun a reddish gold. He also seemed real hung up on my answer. 

“You shouldn’t begin what you can’t finish.” He eyed me, exploring me like an item he was considering to purchase. I tried not to react, lifting my chin to appear unaffected. 

I didn’t like to be called a quitter or a coward. I especially hated being referred to as a girl who couldn’t handle her drink. Which is why, I stupidly stepped toward him and took the glass. He poured me a generous amount, just the kind of amount I needed to shake the feeling of his eyes somehow unravelling me of all my many layers. His hand didn’t seem very steady as I drank without looking at him, finishing every drop before easing the glass toward him for more. He hesitated, then poured me half a glass.

“Maybe now you’ll listen,” his voice echoed. It sounded harsh, but full of an embracing kindness, strong, but withholding something. I realised it was the voice from my dreams. The one I’d been having since receiving Carmen’s letter. It was shadow that always killed me.  
The glass slipped from my hand and shattered, I stepped back and fell to my knees. When I lifted a hand to my face there was blood on my fingertips. My hand was shaking into a blur of pink. What the hell?

“Didn’t I warned you?” came the same elusive voice. He sipped his wine and grit his teeth as he said my name, said it as if the sound made him curl inside out from the anguish of uttering it. “Stay away from me,” he growled. But his mouth wasn’t moving. His lips were a tightening line of white. His hands began to stroke my face; his full lips hovered just below mine. But he never moved out of his real position. It was as if I was seeing my thoughts happen, or his fears evolve into a ghostly vision. There was one side of him that hated me, the other side sighed my name, till my heart fluttered. Even if I didn’t know which one was really happening.  
He touched me again, frown so deep his nose dipped into his face. All the while, I could still feel his fingers on my skin, his palms smooth down my thighs and stomach, the tenderness below my breasts.

“Stop,” I yelled, feeling overwhelmed by the need to touch him back.

When I opened my eyes again, he was standing far away from me. His lips slightly parted and wet. His hair was finger combed out of its original place. He seemed unable to speak or look away from me. I still needed to instil every section of his face, the allurement, the callous truth. How I sensed he was to be the death of me, in more ways than one.

“Ah! I see you’ve found one another,” said a voice from behind me. I turned to find Carmen smiling as if she knew this was going to happen all along.


	3. Chapter Three

““Checkmate!” Bree squealed, startling me out of my open eye sleep in the drawing room the next day.  
She grabbed a black knight and placed it with the other three on her side of the table.  
I was never any good at chess, especially not with my slip of concentration.  
“You’re so easy to beat.” She giggled.  
There was no use in thinking about Edward I warned myself hopefully for the last time. There was no use trying to understand why Carmen seemed so entranced by the surmounting tension. But as the day drew to an end, so did my strange feelings toward Edward. I had the distinct feeling he was toying with me, perhaps trying to make a serious situation lighter for me to deal with. It was far-fetched but perceivable in my tired mind. Luckily I hadn’t seen him all day.  
Leaning back in my wide and comfortable chair situated in the middle of the room beside the piano, I peeled off my cardigan and turtle neck sweater. It was warmer indoors, but too hot since I was beginning to stick to myself.  
The log fire spat and licked its way around the gauze frame, sizzling with sparks of ash that illuminated the room and its reddish satin walls. I decided it was my favourite so far. Although it wasn’t as big as the dining room, which had to be the largest in the Manor, as far as I’d visited anyway. But there were three levels. There had to be other rooms I hadn’t visited, empty compartments that needed to be re-visited and snooped around for a missing heirloom, pictures of the family rather than the hundred-year-old dead who stared at me all bug-eyed and wrinkled.  
Right now, I was sitting beside at a large painting of a bearded man above another mantelpiece, the marble as gray as his beard and his glassy eyes that never seemed to leave me.  
It was a typical portrait, oiled and posed for in a cravat and cocked hat. Apparently he was a militant during the American Revolution. He wore the anguish of every battle as a constant scowl on his face. There was nothing gentle about him, and it didn’t hide behind his hardness or brazen prune-like skin. He was cold. Made to be, and stuck that way.  
“Ok, you got me,” I said. Had it of been a game of Scrabble or Pictionary it would’ve been a whole different story,” I claimed, fanning my face with a flat ashtray.  
Brees clapped her hands, then took a sip of Esme’s homemade lemonade. “I’ll dig out the old Scrabble board from the attic, see if you can prove it,” she betted.

“You have an attic?” I asked, instantly awake. Attics intrigued me. You never knew what interesting things lay inside them. What peculiar families like the Cullens had to hide.  
“You wanna see?” She smiled, already clearing the chessboard.  
I didn’t need to be asked twice. “Sure, why not?”  
Bree bolted for the doorway. I followed closely behind, shivering as we reached the top of the stairs.  
She continued onto the next floor of an even steeper loft of stairs, walking down a dark hallway with no paintings hanging on either side of the damaged walls, only shoddy beige wallpaper stained a urinated yellow that was browning at the outer lining of the ceiling.  
The temperature dropped the more we approached the center of an incoming stench; sweet, but too sour in my mouth. There was a green door emanating most of the fermenting smell, mangy like slush grass or mould, bolted from top to bottom.  
It stood out from the other flanked doors, probably because they were all painted pearly white, and this was kind of a putrid vomit color, peeling from the lack of care to it.  
I hovered outside as Bree walked ahead without me. Feeling sure, I could hear someone moving inside, scraping and lifting a drag of feet that sounded wrapped in aluminium foil or iced Saran wrap. It gathered and scrunched, stopping dead then beginning again.  
“Arina,” a voice whispered. “Arina, come back to me.”  
My shoulders were slammed into. I jerked and stumbled forwards onto the door.  
“Hey, why weren’t you following me?” Bree asked, backing away from playfully pushing me.  
Large goose bumps had risen on my arms. I hugged myself, rubbing them until my skin felt lacerated and coming away under my nails. I had to erase the ill feeling as the temperature rose and dropped to swathe me like a tug of chains, forget the distant echoes of the voice removing every sound, the certainty and its reason to speak out loud to me, call for an Arina but call out for me too. It had been male in tone, struggling to breathe and break through a series of shuttered static. Plus the name had hit a stagnant structure in my brain, a sensitive part that had now lost all other feeling.  
“What’s in that room?” I asked, trembling, nodding my head at the unprepossessing door.  
Bree glowered like she hadn’t noticed the stomach-churning smell, and lifted her shoulders  
“That rooms forbidden. It has…” she stopped to think. “A collapsing roof and…rodents. No…no…an infestin…..a wood infestin.” She smiled, satisfied.  
“You mean a rot infestation?”  
“Mm….maybe,” she frowned at the correction, then twitched her nose.  
“It’s too dangerous anyway.” She whirled, walking away from me to head down the rest of the hallway, flamboyant in her poofed out pink dress.  
I had no choice but to follow, pretend I’d imagined the eerie but welcoming voice coming from inside the room. It wasn’t like I was about to get any answers. I also didn’t want to appear mentally challenged by admitting to hearing anything. Besides, after my reaction to Edward and Sebastian all in one day, maybe I was actually starting to lose some sense.  
I also soon regretted ever asking Bree to take me to the attic. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t ignore a painful stretch of my whitening skin. It felt tight and strapped wired to something electric. I was on edge, gritty like sawdust, with an instinctive feeling of being watched and followed by some unseen person moving close by me, brushing at my flimsy arms. I felt sure icy breaths skimmed the nape of my neck, causing the tiniest of hairs to rise and stand on end as I stumbled up the stairs to the attic.  
It was all the more freezing inside, fogged up and dusty.  
I coughed and waved the smoky air from my face, then made my way over to where Bree stood, and switched on a tall obtuse lamp.  
It floodlighted the room with a kindling glow, keeping the far ends of the box-sized room shadowed by its flare of fiery orange. There were cardboard boxes piled around like a hearth; walnut colored tables mounted with fingerless clocks and crates of plush toys, broken pieces of modernised furniture were concealed with dirty linen.  
There was also a circular window facing me, cracked all the way down the middle and bringing in a much needed flow of fresher air. Stringy spider webs hung from the bilging ceiling, the exposed rafters dripped with an oily, scentless residue.  
I crouched though the roof was higher than a usual attic, running my fingers through my hair and spitting out flakes of wood. Attics weren’t so great, just a polluted and squalid confined space with extinguished oxygen. The Cullen’s past belongings didn’t seem to be anything different from what must have been kept in a middle class home. It didn’t look worth the hours of a planned disturbance anyway. Unwashed baby clothes and disjointed toys were most likely the only things among the hoarded collections, with nothing to hide as I’d secretly wanted.  
“Here it is” Bree squawked, hitting me with a flattened box that looked to have been crushed in an earthquake.  
She smiled and placed it carefully onto the floor that had nails poking out for someone to trip and bang their head on leaning concrete. Dipping her hands back in the crate of toys, she searched for something else to swing at me  
I stepped toward the window and took a look at the view, inhaling the shift of air coming in through the crack to cool my hot face. Outside was scarily high from the ground, easily accessible to see the miles of land at a gamut length. Everywhere was deprived of much light, since the night was curling in, creeping over an achromatic chapel and the halo of a hay field with running children and farmers still gathering up bits of hay. A blossom tree waved like a pendulum hand on a pivot of grass. Its pink petals from the distance were like buttery coins reflecting the emerging half-moon embossed in clouds; gray yet lighted with a line of silver.


	4. Chapter Five continued

To the right, adjacent to the rear of the Manor was a cemetery. I couldn’t see most of it, not like the farmstead plantations and high-situated ranches, just the low crumbling walls in a divergent shape, like a letter “C” but not as angular, forking into a frame of low prostrated bushes.   
A lank, woman wearing a blue head scarf carried a basket of heather and a bundle of assorted flowers as she entered through a concealed gap, walking among the dishevelled head stones and halting at the tallest to place the flowers.  
I wondered who’d been buried among the humps of dirt. Or if any other member of this family were entombed or buried to rest within an undisclosed catacomb. If an Arina belonged to the lying dead.  
The woman looked up at the window, catching me observing her with a flash of distaste on her bleak face. Her gaze was vacuous, staring, but with an incomplete recognition as to why; a dispiritedness that invaded the drop of her lips and fragile crouch and rangy neck. She shook her head slowly, half smiling, the other half still detesting me, seeking to maybe make me cry out for her to stop.  
I backed away from the window, and bumped into something solid and up to my calves. Tumbling back, I fell on top of something spiked, but possibly malleable, colossal in size, and long like a child’s casket.  
The hinges looked made from a reddish brass, shaped as claws with long fingernails that bit holes into the metallic blue frame that mirrored my face. Below was a dense hole filled and secured with a sparkling diamond that seemed to blink and react like an eye to my touch.  
Gold letters were melded to a small plague above three entwining circles, the letters unreadable, and not in English, or any other language for that matter that I could have guessed.   
I had a feeling they existed outside our lifetime though, or even the next. I knew because I could feel the message, their symbolic worth, or sacred teaching, how they were forthcoming, but depriving me of answers, a mystery unknown to every living person that was still as absent minded to know of its existence.  
“What’s this?” I asked Bree.   
She peered up from her clutter of cards and medallions strewn across the dangerous floor. Her hair was stuck up from the crown and dusted white with a coating of cobwebs. She blew a piece of hair from her wide open eyes and stared at me.  
“How did you find that?” she asked, getting up for a more serious look.  
“I didn’t.” My voice was shaky again. I couldn’t control it. Only this time it wasn’t fear affecting the sound, but an anxious incitement. “I…stumbled across it. Do you know what this means?” I pointed at the symbolic letters.  
She scrunched her chub face and placed her hands on her hips. “This wasn’t here yesterday.” She frowned, ignoring my question and twitching her nose.  
Was she lying? Pretending to seem even dimmer than she could be? If she was trying to act surprised, she was doing a good job.  
“Are you sure?” I pressed.  
“Only I come here, Bella,” she practically snapped.   
“This has just arrived.” She pouted. “It must have,” she said, folding her arms.  
“Well shall we try and open it?” I offered, unbothered by the hurt in her eyes for not being told absolutely everything. I only cared to see what was inside the chest. I was in a frustrated knot to do it. I just needed the key.  
“What?” she yelped, stepping back. “No...no we shouldn’t. Mother will explain.”  
“Why hasn’t she already?” I asked, wanting to make her angry and impose on her mother’s rules, just this once.  
She downturned her lips and skulked away from me. “There will be a good reason. Mother is probably holding it for a friend of hers. Most of them collect.”  
This wasn’t exactly some antique you could collect and buy to sell. It was too different. Priceless.  
“I’m leaving now,” she announced, placing the flat piece of cardboard under her arm, before storming across the room. I followed after her. I didn’t want to be left behind in a room that bathed me with insinuating eyes.  
I glanced back at the ominous object sitting deserted but occupying its position back in the dark, resting among the rubble of fallen chips of wood and detritus concrete. My hands shook, wishing to have the strength to break it open and create a fissure with my bare hands.  
To someone it gave meaning. To someone it was uncomplicated, understandable and easy to solve. It was an item of mass significance, a bulk of something I was far from less cowardice to accept.   
When we both returned to the second floor, Bree retreated to her room, complaining of a headache and a need to wear her wool pyjamas. It was a lie. She knew I knew it. And I knew my stay here was to re-enact the same response. But I could see why she needed to get away from me. How she may have been offended by the secret kept behind her untiring back.  
Nothing was kept from Bree. Things were probably run by her before a decision could me made or given thought. She was spoiled no doubt. A rich chubby kid with few needs other than to be waited on hand and foot, overly fed and treated to everything she wanted to purchase on someone else’s wealthy tab.  
As far as Bree was concerned, she was the most important thing to live within the walls of the Cullen household. Nothing, not even me, a new potential interest that seemed alien to her easy way of life could stand in the way of that.   
To keep a secret would mean they were keeping her out of something important. What that might be was still bothering me.  
I walked to my room, seeing my feet move but my heart still drift somewhere in the attic, clenching itself to the chest and the many thing I knew it could give me to make me feel wiser. Better about who I was, and possibly could be.  
I approached my door and turned the handle, stopping the twist of my wrist at the sound of a door swing open opposite, inviting a delicate scent of someone recently showered. It was Craven, I mean Edward, standing by his door, trying to avert his gaze instead of look at me, then doing so anyway. His longish hair had been combed back to tail behind his neck and dripped water on the wood floor.   
He was cleanly shaven, giving his skin a healthier shine and a soft pink hue to his cheeks. I wasn’t sure which look I preferred the most: rough bristle against olive smooth skin and tired, half closed eyes, or the sleek, sheen of radiance, against a wakeful esoteric smile, sort of hidden, but still arresting my heartbeat.   
Neither of us spoke in the minutes that seemed to pass like hours. It didn’t matter which one looked away first. We didn’t look set to do it. I knew I didn’t want to. Did he feel the same? Who was I kidding?  
My back hurt from the prolonged press of the door handle to my spine. My head wanted to lower and look at my hands. I wanted to get away and enter my room as if I’d never seen him. Not that my mind had been on anything as cryptic or arcane as his amazing color changing eyes. Not even the chest. I tried to guard myself from how he made me automatically react, but the push only backfired. My tension became undone. Until I didn’t feel sabotaged, but sought, as if a seal had been broken, yet smeared with heartfelt emotions, new kinds of feelings I hadn’t wanted to experience or ever thought I could have. Yet they still flourished, blooming inside me like a hurricane, thrashing at my chest till it felt plucked at and squeezed.   
When he finally stalked down the hall, I finally brought my hands forward to check.  
They were somehow still, solid as a rock and unaffected by the longing I’d just felt for a stranger. The illicit desires that had built within me like blocks of a tower, making me see it as powerful, stubborn, and capable of making me fall from even myself.  



	5. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

I woke with a jolt. Something had blown like a horn in my ears. The sound of running water was coming from the bathroom. The light inside flickered, creating dancing shadows over the pink powdery walls.   
Someone was in my room. I must have forgotten to lock the door like an idiot. I berated myself for being so careless, catching my breath and kicking at the sheets to get down on my knees since crawling seemed the better option. It didn’t take long to come across something wet along my travels in the dark munitions of my room.   
I peered closer and found footprints from the bathroom to the end of my bed. As if someone had been standing there, watching me sleep. I tried not to panic and kept moving.   
The door to my room creaked open, revealing the blackness of the hallway. Edward’s door was closed and most likely bolted. I had to fight the urge to wake him—if he was even inside—if he would even answer me.   
I muffled a low biting scream that would have woken the entire town  
The bathroom had been occupied. I knew that much, but it no longer seemed to have anyone inside. Whoever trespassed must have left. Or were they hiding? Waiting for me to make the mistake of running in to find out?  
I had to know who the footprints belonged to. I couldn’t just climb back into bed without checking. The water prints looked like they belonged to a male; they were long, broad with large droplets for toes. Maybe Emmett and Bree were playing a prank.  
I rose to my feet, eyes half closed as my hands groped blindly around the bathroom, only to slip and fall onto the wet tiles with a dense thud.   
My gown had caught on the shelf of towels and now hung there. I was lying in a pool of water soaking into my nightshirt.  
Water poured from the faucet at my sink, spilling from the sides like a waterfall cascading down to the baby blue tiles. It was shallow, but steadily making its way to the doorway and ebbing into the floorboards of my room. I made my way to the sink to pull the chain, listening to the water gurgle down the pipe to steady by heartbeat.  
I looked in the mirror on the medicine cabinet, stifling a scream as I saw a tall shadow scurry past behind me.  
There was a push on my back, similar to being patted, but too vigorous. Invisible hands brushed away the sides of my hair, gently, but with unkindness I could detect. I couldn’t open my mouth to speak, scream, or cry for help. I stayed planted against the sink, rigorous and chilled to the bone, trying to locate a muscle that could pull me away from the sliver of fingers tracking a line from the pith of my spine to the top of my neck. I couldn’t turn my head away from the clouding mirror. There was no reflection. No way to see myself soundlessly cry.  
Only my eyes darted around as far as they could to search the bathroom. My hands stayed anchored to the sides of the sink. Suddenly I convulsed, my hands lost their grip on the sink. I pressed them against my mouth, sanctioning the air that struck my insides like sharp daggers that tore at the walls of my swelling stomach. My eyes rolled back as I hit something solid, pushing me forward.  
“Get out,” cried a female voice. “Get out! Get OUT!”   
Deep red blood shot out from the sink, hitting me in the chest and knocking me off my feet. I flew across room and landed with a deafening crack against the bathtub.   
***  
I yelped as water entered my nostrils, choking back the tiny droplets entering the back of my parched throat.   
“Drink this,” someone muttered, placing a glass to my lips. I took large gulps, trying not to vomit.  
When I’d had enough, I leaned back against the bathtub. My heavy breaths were the only signal that time was passing without my real acceptance of it.  
“Can you speak?” The voice was husk, drowsy with disrupted sleep. It was a voice I recognized.   
My heart rose to my throat and beat fast. I tried my damnedest not to let it, but I couldn’t. I peered up at who was in front of me, squatted, barefoot and shirtless with gray sweatpants soaked from the bottom. Even in my traumatized state, I couldn’t help but admire his extraordinary face, his composed yet bull-headed concentration, his razor sharp cheekbones that were as steel as his ever changing eyes.  
I blinked a few times to clear my head from the confusion of being distracted by Edward so easily, even in this state.   
“I’m not sure.” I clenched shyly at the wet fabric of my nightshirt, hiding my exposed underwear as I groped at my stomach. It was flat and unmoving, allowing me to release my clenched hands and the painful shake of my shoulders.   
He looked at me pre-eminently as he lifted one hand and held up a piece of tissue. “Here, dry off your face.” The offer was blunt and uncaring, but I took it anyway and rubbed at my face, all the while suppressing the need to convey the tones of his deeply attuning voice. I had longed to hear it again, see beyond the gray metal plates that seemed to have moulded around his pupils. Obviously, I must have been imagining it.  
As always he broke the hold, almost sheepishly, breathing in through his nose then out through his lips. I watched as if it was the most unusual thing to witness, wishing I knew what he was thinking so I that I could understand his need to be so distant.  
When he looked at me, it wasn’t directly. His gaze was somewhere in between my eyes   
“Can you stand?” he asked, neutral in tone.  
I just glared, unable to speak.  
“Now?” he asked, rubbing his face.  
“Give me five,” I said through gritted teeth.  
He stood and turned the faucets at the sink, something I felt sure I did only minutes ago. He leaned back against it and waited. I wasn’t sure for what. A bedtime story?  
“You can leave now.” I wasn’t ready to be alone, but I didn’t want to be monitored by him either. I didn’t want to see his six-pack or exposed boxers, see his arms folded over his bare chest so that they expanded like mounds of tough skin, see the way he could never quite look at me.  
“Will you be making a habit of this?” he asked in his mastered uncaring tone.  
“I don’t know.” I scowled. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”  
“I won’t stand for being disturbed this late. You’re lucky no one else heard you mumbling to yourself.”   
“That’s what you heard? Mumbling?”   
He shrugged. “It’s up to you what you do in your own time.” He peered around. “You should try turning the faucets off next time you sleep walk.”  
His extreme good looks were losing its appeal. Even his voice was losing the seductive edge, since he complained so much. Standing in front of me was an ass as inconvenient as the water around me.   
“You could move rooms,” I snapped. “There’s plenty to choose from.”  
He rubbed his arms, still avoiding looking at me. He turned to leave. He was a coward too.  
“I didn’t wake you on purpose, Ed.” I realized too late that I’d called him by the dreaded wrong name. I tensed, unprepared for an explosion.  
He stopped in his tracks and looked to the side of him. I tried not to admire how his back muscles flexed and curved inwards between his shoulders.  
“Edward,” he said somewhat calmly. “It’s Edward.”   
He sloshed across the room and left.

***

As soon as Edward made his exit, the memory of what happened returned just as fresh for me to recall it like a strange state of limbo. As if I'd been in a dream, but somehow awake, running, but at the speed of a stroll.  
I quickly changed into a dry shirt and layered up again since the cold draft had returned, then sat up in bed and kept the bedside lamp switched on while I clutched my cell phone that had Jared's number on the screen, ready to call if I plunged into another preternatural world where I was invaded by an invisible presence.  
Although my stomach was bloated, it wasn't ballooning like it had a few minutes ago. It just churned because of indigestion, not the feeling that a livid organism was inside.  
Thinking back, though, it had been a fictive feeling, as if it had been happening to someone else and I had been a spectator at close range. It didn't completely embed itself to my membrane.   
The woman who screamed had been different; her voice adamant and shrill, but also apprehensive, unable to make a choice between right and wrong. Her presence was weaker than the other. She was unable to reach me at first. I sensed she couldn't fight an avenging pull. And when I hit the bathtub, I felt her hands on my feet, tugging as she screamed my name; screamed like she knew me, knew I was coming here all along. I had a feeling it was Arina, the name uttered through the green door. A door restricted and kept apart from the rest of the Manor.   
What was inside? Was Isobel keeping a secret like Jared suspected? Did she keep the door closed for a reason?   
I had to speak to her, make her tell me or break the door down myself.  
As for my stomach, I didn't know why it swelled as if I was becoming pregnant.  
Was it a premonition? A metaphor for something? Growth? Change? Something new to enter my life?  
I had a feeling it wasn’t. I just wanted to devise another theory and consider it being something other than a bad omen.  
I didn't want to have to think about pregnancies again. I didn't want to be reminded of a moment in my past that would always haunt me.  



	6. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

T  
he next morning, I grabbed the mop and bucket in the bathroom and wiped up the water. Daylight made it easier to step back inside without fearing what could leap out at me.  
Besides, the Cullens’ were waking and stepping out of their rooms to wander the halls.   
It was comforting. I didn't feel so set apart from the rest of the household, destitute in the creepy old manor. I contemplated moving rooms, but would it really help? If the place was haunted, did it matter where I slept? Whatever it was, it would probably follow me, and I still didn't know what I was dealing with. I could have been sleepwalking for the first time. I could have dreamed up last night. It could have been a trick of the mind or underlying stress. I might have been losing it on a trip to nowhere and with people I wasn't clicking with. Carmen included. It was the worst place to crack.  
To distract myself, I tugged on a pair of skinny jeans and three cardigans over a thick turtleneck to keep me warm. I wasn't freezing, but I had to hold onto myself to tame the shivers.  
When I arrived downstairs, Carlise told me everyone had left for the day, which was fine by me, just inconvenient for my questions. I couldn't face any company anyway, especially not Edward Cullen’s.  
I left Carlise to do some gardening while I mooched around to get familiar with the place like Carmen encouraged. I wanted to see what lurked in drawers and rooms that were mostly unlocked. It seemed rude, so I kept it minimal. Yet they hardly had anything inside.  
Satisfied there was nothing more to write home about, I entered the study for the second time, gladly without Carmen waiting for me behind her wide girth of a desk, tapping her pen and eyeing me like she'd known me a few hours.  
The rate she was changing was bothering me. It was as if the woman I had shared so much with and seemed so eager to please me was disappearing.  
It was time I talked to her. I couldn't let myself get side-tracked by Edward and the strangeness of last night. But my bedroom door had been unlocked. Someone had been watching me from the foot of my bed.  
I shuddered at the thought.  
Could ghosts unlock doors and leave wet footprints?  
No. It had to be a prank. Emmett didn't seem to like me very much. He could have been  
trying to scare me back home. Bree could have been a prankster in her spare time, too. She did look the type, but the footprints had been too large.  
I stopped the pointless chattering in my head. Unless I told someone about it, I wasn't going to get any answers. Simple.  
I also acted out of character last night, idiotically...enamoured by Edward. I wasn't, not when I was back to being rational. And I sure as hell didn't waste my time on superficial feelings, never mind people who treated me as though I was an outsider. I'd had enough of that at the group home.  
I sauntered into the study. It looked the same as yesterday. I wasn't sure why I'd expected it to be different, probably because in the afternoon it seemed plainer, in the evening it had a great eminence, similar to a room within a castle.  
I opened a few drawers and found more books, opened glass cabinets and found nothing behind the soft-paste porcelain plates on display like beautified Frisbees.  
When I became bored with the rummage, I sat at the large desk beside the pane glass window. The sunlight warmed my face. I held up my hands to warm them too. The desk must have been where Carmen kept all her paperwork. Did she work? Live off her inheritance? I hadn’t thought to ask. I just assumed she did.  
I tried to pull open some of the drawers, but they were all locked. Then I was in luck. One slid open.   
Inside was a selection of multi colored paper clips, a pair of scissors, various pens, pencils, and a tin of soft mints. I tried not to be disappointed as I sat back and huffed. It wasn’t going to be easy to find any of the Cullen’s secrets. I guess if Carmen had anything to hide, she wouldn’t have made it reachable with bobby pins. Something sparkled at the back of the drawer, beneath the scissors.   
I carefully dragged it along the green lining and picked it out with two fingers. It was a key, elongated and narrow and possibly made of plated silver, encrusted with Lilliputian red and black gemstones. Its tail was reptile like, wrapped around its brittle frame like a ring, creating three apt loops attached to a snake’s head with glowing emerald eyes. The words “Temius Legara – Spirits of the earth” was welded onto the middle.   
I wasn’t educated on the subject of foreign tongues, but it was pretty obvious it didn’t resemble one that was documented or practiced to teach, And Carmen didn’t come across as a pot smoking hippie dancing genially around a tree. Nor did she look like an avid supporter of Green-peace, leading riots to save the rainforest.   
What was she doing with it? What did it open? Her briefcase? No. That had combination locks. Maybe the chest in the attic?  
Before I was caught red handed, I slipped the key back inside the drawer exactly where I found it. Resting back against in the rotating chair, I tapped my fingers on the padded armrests, fantasizing about the key and its origin, the many ways I could get to the attic and try it on the chest.

Carlise whizzed into the room and gave me a start. He was carrying a tray with a glass of juice and a toasted buttered bagel on top, and had changed into an old flannel blue shirt and black shorts. I didn't know he also did housekeeper duties. "Breakfast is served. Found anything interesting?"  
"Not yet. And thanks Carlise."  
I would have preferred a latte, but chose not to be ungrateful.  
I was about to tell him about last night, but thought better of that too. There was a chance I hadn't locked the door. Now that I thought in-depth about it, I remembered going to the door to turn the lock then getting distracted by a mocking text message from my colleague Mike that read: Night. Don't let the Cullens bite.  
Maybe I’d forgotten to turn the lock.  
As for everything else that happened, I couldn't start airing something spooky and irrational to anyone and everyone. I couldn't ruin my farce of a reputation of being stable on my second day.  
"There's plenty to look through." Carlise winked. "Shout if you need me." He breezed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

With that in mind I decided to take a look at the collection, even if it was just to check if they weren’t made of plastic. I skimmed the row of shelves with my finger, drifting my eyes along the volumes of books in alphabetical order or numerical order. I waited for a title to catch my eye. But nothing did, not even for a second. They were mostly pharmaceutical, dating from medieval to the eighteenth century. There were one or two books on poetry, but by authors never established to be given a name or title—signed anonymous, faded and losing pages.  
My eyes diverted back to a red book parked deep within the shelf, recondite between two larger ones. It was entitled “Myths and Legends – The history behind mystical realms.”   
I raised a brow. This was another thing I hadn’t expected.  
I tried to pull it down, but it didn’t want to budge. It was lodged like a wobbling tooth. I stood on a chair until I was eye level, then placed one hand on top of the book and yanked.   
It loosened and stuck out from the top. Pulling with both hands until I was blotch faced and frustrated and preparing to scream for Carlise, the shelf finally released the book flat open on my chest, billowing with thick dust. I coughed and gagged, jumped down from the chair and drank my juice before the dust could settle. I drank it all though it was too cold, just like everything else in a Manor with the climate of a Wyoming winter. I bended down to collect the fallen pages on the rug, stopping to sift through the one that was beneath the top. It was a page titled “Ritualistic Summoning,” with a picture illustrated underneath. A few paragraphs were about folklores and Goddesses that manifested in the night. A montage of half human, half beasts, changing faces with allegorical insignias were on either side of a gruelling smile. The rest of them were crouched like wolves that had sharp horns, holding a child as a cluster of people in cloaks leaped around a fire.  
My heart hammered against my chest. I quickly gathered the crumbling sheets, placed them back into the book, then shoved it back into the shelf as if it was covered in flesh eating bugs. I didn’t want to see it again. It was enough to fuel my current nightmares and spectral daydreams. Why would the Cullens have it? It was morbid, sadistic, and totally unnecessary. It seemed like it was the only one on the shelf, almost kept out of sight.

Selecting one of the poetry books, I took a seat in a small chair in front of the lit fireplace and sipped on my drink, trying to clear the mental images from the book that looked down at me like a person with leering eyes.  
An hour or so later, Carmen appeared, clasping a pair of cream, satin gloves and carrying a large briefcase. She was also wearing high wasted beige slacks and a ruffled baby blue shirt that made her look even younger than yesterday. 

Sauntering into the room, she came to a standstill when she realized she had company. "Oh, there you are, darling." She sat behind her huge desk. "What have you been doing today, reading? That is very wise of you." She unlocked one of her drawers with a key from her pocket and placed the briefcase carefully inside.  
"I thought it would be nice to sit and unwind," I replied, watching her every move. "How was your morning?" I wanted to know why she was carrying such a large briefcase.  
Carmen had unlocked her drawers and looked up at me with a quick smile. "Yes, fine, thank you, darling. I was just handling some business regarding the house, finance and expenditure and what not. Nothing of any particular interest." She dove back into the compartments of her desk.  
I got up to sit in the chair at her desk. "If you're not too busy Carmen, can we talk about my family history? It's one of the reasons why I came here, after all."  
She stopped what she was doing and peered at me from the top of the desk. "Of course. What would you like to know?" Wisps of hair had fallen in front of her face. She brushed them aside and sat perfectly straight, reminding me how much I slouched.  
"Anything, just something you haven't told me. Maybe you could tell more about Alistair."  
She eyed me critically, leaning her arms on the table. She began to grate her fingernail against the cuticle of her thumb. "So you've been informed of him." I noticed she said "him" like he was a traitorous leech.  
Not another difficult subject.  
"Bree told me about him last night," I explained to her confused pout.  
"Well, as you are perhaps aware he lived here with his parents in the 1800's. He had a child out of wedlock and never married. They found him hanging from his room for reasons that have remained unknown." The rubbing of her thumb continued, turning it red.  
No, I hadn't known. "Which room had he hanged himself in?" I hoped it wasn't mine.  
"Oh, do not worry." Carmen smiled, reading my expression. "It was the room at the top tier. No one visits there."  
The skin on her thumb peeled from all the scratching. It looked painful. I wanted it to stop.  
"Is it the one with...the greenish door?"  
She looked at me like I'd sworn. "You've visited?"   
She had asked casually, but her jaw had tensed. I wasn't sure why she was surprised. She said I could freely look around.  
"Bree showed me. Anyway, forget that for a minute Carmen, you're hurting yourself. Are you okay?"  
Carmen looked at the blood coating the inside of her thumb nail. "Oh," she said with minor surprise. "How careless of me." She sucked on the end of it.  
"Is there anything else?" I asked, afraid that insisting on more information might make her chew off her hand.  
She sighed. "No, that is all. There is not much more I can explain. To tell you the truth, I was told very little regarding the family's history—especially the kind dating back so far. Whenever I broached such a subject, it was made quite clear to be strictly forgotten." She looked at her watch. "My goodness. It will be time for dinner before we know it. I think I will take a long hot bath and then divulge in a read myself before we dine this evening. Do you mind, darling?" She had already risen, making the decision for me.  
"Enjoy your bath." I smiled with a look that probably seemed too calculated.   
"Thank you, dear." She flushed. I wondered why.  
"I will see you at dinner." She disappeared before I had the chance to think up an excuse to miss it.  
I was beginning to detest dinner with the Cullens. It was more like a trip to the dentist, a chore, an aggravation. Between Emmett’s attitude, Carmen’s erratic behaviour, and now Edward’s added exoticism reactions to my visit, I wanted to hole up in my room. It was like eating with a group of escaped mental patients. The only sane person seemed to be Bree. No wonder the poor girl looked so happy to see me. She might have been spoiled and self absorbed, but at least she acted fairly normal.  
Something was wrong at Thorncrest Manor. Gooseflesh popped up all over my arms and legs as I thought about last night. A part of me wanted to run like hell while I still had the chance, but something stronger, more stubborn made me want to stay. For some reason I was becoming fond of Carlise and Esme, for more than their general politeness. They drew me in. I guess they were becoming likeable, allowing me to feel extra cared for and important, something I wasn’t prepared to lose just yet.  
Plus, there was something I had to figure out, such as why I was disliked by two members of the Cullens, and for what reason? I had to know why Carmen was changing. I was too stupid to leave before I had my answers.

I couldn’t get my mind off the key, the book, what happened last night, so I went outside to explore the surrounding grounds to clear my head. My feet itched to see cemetery. It’s was only yards away. What better place to learn about the past?   
I picked a few flowers in case came across on any graves with familiar names. Well, two of anyway.  
The yard had no gate, only a low stone wall that travelled around to an opening at one end beside a wilted apple tree. I stepped inside and felt discouraged by the display of dedications to the dead. I hoped the scowling woman I’d seen from the attic window wasn’t going to appear and snarl something threatening.   
The tombs were all broken, some a little pushed open so that the cracks invited mosquitoes and flying ants. Leaves lay on the ground like a bed of black roses. The head stones were just as abused, lapsing backwards or sideways into a demeaning droop. Most weren’t even standing, let alone readable. They had to be lifted to see who the grave belonged to.


	7. Chapter 7

It was disheartening to see how they’d been left to dissolve to stumps, corroded into thin slates of morass green that felt sharp against my fingertips.   
In the center was a headless statue kneeled in prayer, spotted and crumbling into a mottled gray. Beneath was a faded inscription.  
Beginning of one’s end.  
The fallen shall be caught.  
Retrieved and blessed if not thrown back to the wicked.

I ran my hands over the raised letters. It wasn’t an uplifting or consoling message, so I walked around the humps of graves in search of a name to bring me still or catch my attention. It took me a while, but then I found him: Alistair, his tomb protected by the growth of weeds covering most of the cleaved surface. It was fenced, but I could still read his name engraved on the rusted plate. Strangely, the only thing inscribed for him was his name. Nothing else. Not even his date of birth or death.  
After placing down the flowers and stood there for a minute, wondering if neither were noted. Had any family been alive to give such details to any grave digging pallbearers? Maybe back then births and deaths weren’t recorded.   
Alistair was rich and lived in the personified Manor. They could have at least added something to describe him and his shortened life.   
The Manor stood in all its sky-reaching righteousness, granulated chimney tops and the bevelling roof, looked as though it wanted to collapse but stayed standing out of some type of historic duty. Thorncrest was a title that must have belonged to Alistair in some way. I had to ask Carmen in the hope she would answer me properly. To all who would pass it, Vander was just a name with no past. They would never learn what he must have loved and what he had gained and lost within such an unfulfilled life. A life he ended prematurely.  
As I crouched to touch his tomb, something flashed in the window of the Manor. A mane of blonde waves pressed against the small fractured glass. A hand pressed to it, as if trying to push through and reach out and grasp a hold of the air. It was solid and a fleshy pink, small like mine.  
I waved and the hand slipped away and into the darkness. A shiver ran up my legs as I tried to disengage myself from the image re-playing in my mind: the fan of golden spun hair and the fragile press of a female hand that was accessible to me if I could’ve reached it. It really happened. I had no idea what it was supposed to mean or who it had been standing there watching. I was getting seriously spooked. None of the Cullen’s had fair hair, and nobody visited the attic except Bree. It was her only hideout. Could there be a ghost at the Manor? I shook my head, but my hands trembled.  
“Seen a ghost?” said a voice that made me jump.  
“I’m not sure,” I stuttered, still looking at the attic window  
“Male or a female?” A girl around my age moved to stand beside me as I tried to catch another glimpse of blonde hair. I had to see it again to believe in the impossible.  
“Female,” I replied in a daze, my eyes seeing everything in a double.  
“Blonde?”  
Her amber hair glimmered red against the sunlight. Her shaded blue eyes spilled over with a friendliness that literally made her sparkle as she smiled at me with pebble size teeth.  
“How did you know?”   
She lifted her shoulders. “Jus a guess see. That bein her color n’all.”  
“Who?” I demanded, unable to keep the harshness out of my voice.  
“Arina,” she said, her tone too gritty with the.  
Her shoulders relaxed as she smiled. Her navy cotton dress hugged her plump-ish figure. Her pretty cherub face turned pink.  
“Who’s Arina?” I spat, trying to tone down my level of aggravated questions.  
“Love of Alistair.” She said it as though the whole world had known of the story, and I’d been living under a sea bedded rock. “Mother of his child.”   
“ What happened to her?” My nerves were too jangled to stay calm.   
“Gone leaped off a cliff. Ain't nobody sure why. Never found her.”  
“Is that why he killed himself?” My voice had lowered, sounding far away to me, a whisper in the sultry air.  
“He’d gone killed himself for a darn good reason.” She sighed, her strained expression emitting sympathy for the doomed lovers.   
“I here see her ghost sometimes,” she said with a frenzied smile. “When I pass through to visit the chapel. Don’t no one believe me though.”  
I didn’t know what to say. I just watched her watch me. Smile even when I didn’t.  
“Did you just see her?” she asked, her fingers perhaps crossed behind her back.  
“I ... think so, but ghosts.” I coughed. “Ghosts don’t exist.” I tried to sound fearless, all the while my teeth chattered.  
“Maybe they do now. You gone seen her too. I wouldn’t be surprised if she paid you mo’ of a visit now that you staying at the old Manor n’ all.”  
My knees knocked.  
“Names Alice by the way. And you are?”  
“Bella Valdez,” I said, wondering if should go by my real surename.  
“I thought you looked Greek.”  
“It’s Spanish. My surname is Hispanic.”  
“Then you look kinda … Latin American.”   
I didn’t bother to explain the difference.  
“So how long will you be staying, Miss Valdez.” She grinned, putting on a really bad Spanish accent.  
“I’m just here for a few weeks then I’ll be heading home.”   
“Where to?”   
“Utah.”  
She scrunched up her heart shaped face. “Kinda dry there, ain’t it?”  
“Not really. The dryer parts are in the East. We’ve a lot more vegetation and growth in the Southwest.”  
“Sounds perky.” She chuckled, holding her stomach. “And how you finding the Cullens?” Her face turned serious. The question, I noted, lingered with an added interest.  
“They’re fine.” A neutral answer was better than the truth.  
“Kooks, huh? Real nice then cold?”  
I giggled with her to cover my true feelings to her questions.  
“S’okay. I know they can be confusin,” she said.   
“You do?”   
“Sure. Why, I grew up with the Cullen’s, even stayed at the Manor few times as a child.”  
“You were friends with the likes of Emmett?!”   
She sat on a vacant tomb. “Ain’t that the truth? Though he was human once, you know?” She stopped laughing abruptly and looked away.  
“So what happened?”  
“Let’s just say he grew up and grew an even bigger head.”   
It was my turn to laugh.   
“A girl like me aint no dead ringer for a cheerleading squad.”   
“How about Edward?” I asked casually, a part of me wanted to believe he was different.  
“We were never that close. But we talk. He don’t go pretendin I’m dead anyhow.”   
I was glad to hear Edward wasn’t as heartless, but my dislike for Emmett grew with a vengeance. “Emmett should be glad girl like you gave him the time of day.”   
She blushed, running her hands along her ponytail. I sensed, she had feelings for Emmett that ran deeper than friendship. The poor girl must’ve been traumatized in more ways than she could admit.  
“Forget him, Alice. The guy’s a loser.” I peered around to make sure he wasn’t listening. “You can do better than him.” I smiled when I was sure that he wasn’t.   
She blushed an even deeper scarlet.   
“Sorry, I’ve said too much.”   
“S’okay.” She kept laughing, unable look at me. “I better go.” She rose from the tomb and brushed the back of her creased dress. “Nano will be wondering where I disappeared to so long. I only stepped out for milk.” She picked up her brown paper bag of groceries. “I live over by the bay area up on Tennant Hill. Ask Bree to bring you by sometime.”  
“I will. Maybe you could come by the Manor.”   
She looked hesitant, then smiled. “See you around, Bella.”  
“Sure. Bye Alice. Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.” I waved as she disappeared through the gather of trees.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

The sun shone through the opening clouds as I walked along the gritty path, stopping sometimes to make swirly patterns with the tip of my shoe. The heat intensified with each passing minute as I fanned my face with my hands.   
I didn’t want to think about ghosts or returning doomed lovers, so I mentally shoved the thoughts to the back of my mind to enjoy the fresh air and nature’s ambience. Birds chirped and insects buzzed, muffling the memory of the voice from last night.  
I was being paranoid as usual. I had no reason to run away or chase after something told from an old tale that was probably passed down through generations. I wasn’t sucking myself into this mess, and I wasn’t backing down from my fear to change. Having only yourself to rely on made you thicker skinned than most. Sometimes it grew thin enough to allow the negative aspect of my past to filter through and connect with a part that had been laid to rest. Having a few casual friends helped to an extent. I tried to conceal it with their empathy to understand, though they never could.  
My best friend, Jess, used to say people who suffered the most gained the biggest rewards. Too bad she didn’t stick around to see me reap my so-called gifts. Being married to a moron like, Riley really a way of brainwashing even the less susceptible to good-looking trash.  
The memory of our time together was pointless. I had to keep myself busy or else sink into a bad mood all day. I made sure I found things to do, however childish, like roll around in a meadow, climb a ruddy hill to the blossom tree, running lengths around another cemetery. The wind cooled me down, though my chest felt on fire.  
After jogging from tree to tree, I stopped by the river to catch my breath. Admittedly in the hope to see Jake. I sat on a stump and tried to tighten the strap on my shoes, realizing too late I should’ve brought my sneakers.   
A moment later, something splashed and whipped through the air. I lifted my head and found Jake sat fishing a lower riverbed, so lost in thought, he didn’t see me. It was weird too, not his stark expression, but the fact that I hadn’t seen him when I sat down. It was as if he had materialized by my thoughts alone, from some magical poof of smoke, relaxed and swinging his line as if it didn’t take practice.  
“Hey,” I yelled.  
He turned his head and waved me over like he’d been expecting me. I didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t like I hadn’t anticipated bumping into him. Maybe not partly dressed as a fisherman and sticking long slimy things to a hook, but I was more than happy to see his crooked smile.  
“Look who we have here,” he said without standing. “Take a seat, Bella.” He nodded at the ground beside him.  
I sat so close I could smell his salamander bait.  
“How’s the leg?” he asked, without turning to look at me.  
“Better thanks.” Nothing that an antiseptic wipe, gauze pads, and plastic strip couldn’t cure. I chose to spare him the gory details. He wound his reel and flicked back the rod to throw it back into the murky stream.  
“Catch anything yet?”  
He shook his head.   
Was there a reason he wasn’t as talkative today? Other than the fact he was concentrating on catching fish?  
“It’s not as easy as it looks.” He jerked back his hand and he swore under his breath at the false alarm.  
“Better luck next time, huh?”   
He ignored my comment and talked to himself as he tried to reel something in again, then stood to try with both hands. “Think I’ve got it.” He strained out through gritted teeth. It looked like he was reeling in a whale.  
I stood behind him and enjoyed the view. He wore knee length black shorts and a torn T-shirt beneath an even rattier shirt and Converse on his feet. Of course it looked good on him, what with his exposed taut arms and muscular calves.   
I looked away as I heated up for other reasons than the summer heat. My heart thudded against my chest and my legs ached to run off some more steam.   
His hands trembled and he stepped back then forward, only to drop his arms and throw away the rod. He swore louder this time. I waited for him to stop kicking the ground.  
“Can I give it a try?”  
His face was red, his eyes impassioned, yet his voice was barely above a whisper. “Sure, why not?” He wiped his forehead, then picked up the line that was tangled in a thorny bush. He didn’t wince once as he shook it out with a quick scoop. Maybe it wasn’t as thorny as it looked. “Here.”   
I took the handle, unsure of what to do next. My breath caught as he stood behind me and took my hands into his, easing them back to swing the line forward. They never left mine as I waited, dumbstruck, wondering why my heart rate was decreasing rather than speeding to an exhilarating rate, why Edward’s face kept popping into my mind.  
“Part your legs slightly,” he said beside my ear, his warm breath tickling the tip of my earlobe. “That’s it.”   
I hadn’t even moved yet.  
“Keep your eyes on those water circles,” he whispered, as if the fish could hear him conspiring to hook them by the gills.  
I watched them and counted. I was good at that. Although there were only two, one was spreading; the other was disappearing as I tried to keep the line still.   
“Easy…easy,” he said in a somewhat seductive tone, curling himself inwards to grab me by the elbows. “Slant a little.”   
I opened my mouth to tell him it was pointless, but something yanked my arms. My joints almost popped from my shoulders. Jeez what was it? Jaws? The incredible hulk?  
Jake took some of the control as I loosened my grip. His closeness drew me in. I wanted to hold him close, bury my face against the delectable scent of vanilla soap and grass, maybe a hint of gasoline.  
“Look,” he shouted, frightening me out of the thoughts. “It’s moving!” He pulled as he kept me locked against his chest, much like someone else; I was drawn to him, noticing everything: his suppleness, his temperature that seemed neutral, his heartbeat that wasn’t pounding nearly as much as mine, even if mine pounded with panic. What did it all mean? That I was seriously crushing on two guys—two totally different guys that made me question who I was, what I believed in? Before now, I’d never been this hooked. There had to be more: heart, good sense of humour, common ground. Jake looked like he had those qualities. Edward, though, couldn’t be further away. Yet that didn’t seem to alter his appeal to me.  
“That’s it. Bring it in nice and slow.” He frantically wound the reel as though the fish was his last meal.  
I found myself eager not to lose it. My need to catch the fish took over everything else as Edward’s face faded from my mind. My heart still danced to a silent beat, my head remained somewhere in the clouds, sleeping off a dizzying height that held so many feelings I’d never experienced to question.  
“No” he yelled. The line whipped from my hands and ceremoniously fell into a puddle.  
He didn’t swear this time, just stepped away from me and put his up in his hands. I couldn’t look at him. Although I wasn’t sure what had happened, I had a feeling I’d lost him his lunch or breakfast.  
“I’m sorry.”   
“It wasn’t your fault.” He didn’t sound convinced.  
“Was that lunch?”  
“Something like that.”   
Great. Now I was starving him. What a way to impress a guy.   
“I’ll buy you something to eat.”   
“Do you even know a place?” I think he was smirking. The tone of his voice had lifted.”  
“Well, no.  
“I do. But it’s not upstate or anything.”  
“Food is food” I dared myself to turn.  
“You might just change that verdict.” His lips lifted in that same crooked grin, turning my insides to mush.   
I let him lead me past a stream and toward a breakneck hill, and then a tilted maple tree. “So where we going?” 

He was still a stranger to me, a person that gave little away but took more away from me. But my instinct told me to be trusting. It felt customary, like the way we walked hand in hand.

“You’ll see. I wanna take you somewhere else first.” He climbed some steps two at a time. I almost lost my sandal.


	9. chapter Eight cont

“I don’t plan on kidnappin you.” He squeezed my hand. “Though the thought had crossed my mind.” He frowned then smoothed his brow with his crooked, cute smile. I hadn’t for a single second been afraid. Maybe even if it’d been true.  
He still held my hand as we walked in a synchronized step. Nothing made him let go of me, not even when we crossed a rail track and I trapped my heel, or when I stumbled to my knees running through a cornfield. He kept my hand held, clenched, purposely like a continuous embrace.  
I didn’t want him to let me go either. I wanted it to be permanent. Maybe not the hand, but the pulse and his heartbeat. The way it toyed with mine and gave me a reassurance to openly smile.  
We passed a communal gathering within another cemetery. There was a funeral in procession. The casket was being lifted and lowered into the ground. A woman dressed in white, with a conjugal veil was throwing a bouquet of a hundred flowers inside. Her actions were similar to a machine programmed to suddenly break down and weep and pull at the grass, her tears deceitful, her eyes glancing around the crowd of real mourners to see if they could notice.

“Miss Felicity Jane,” said Jake, stopping beside me. “Was married to Mr Randall,” he added. “He was seventy two.”

“How do you know all these people?” 

“The Clarke Times,” he said, scratching his head.

He turned and walked to the back of the cemetery, pulling at stems of a carnivorous looking plant that curled from his touch. It was cool the way they did it, as if he was some magician that worked his magic on green leafy obstructions.  
There was a gaudy fence behind, painted a lubricous black, with a barrage of tiny bubbles that were Jessient on my hands to feel like barbed wire. Two of the bars must have been pushed open, perhaps by Jake or someone else who broke into cemeteries late at night.

“Watch your head.” He said from the other side.

I hunched over and poked my head through the arched bars, twisting my shoulders to shimmy the rest of the way without slicing off my breasts and getting my hair tangled in the twisty ivy leaves. I was wearing shorts. Thankfully. Which meant I could bend my legs up to my neck and hop on one foot as I eased the other foot to join it, finding myself surrounded by dandelions and florets floating up to my nose.  
I sneezed and lost my balance. Jake grabbed a hold of my arm just in time to catch me. “Easy,” he muttered, close to my ear, his lips for a second brushing my earlobe.  
He let go as soon as I straightened, his hand’s had been unsteady. shaking noticeably as he tried to grip me harder and pull me to his chest.   
I didn’t feel my heartbeat though. Not even one nerve-racking thud.  
We stepped into a clearing, though it was more like a golfing course, flanked by too many Hemlocks and cedars and psychedelic wildflowers. The birds tweeted louder among them. Caterwauling rather than singing some sweet serenading bird song.  
Jake took my hand again. This time it was clammy, the middle of his palm like a plunger that suctioned a pulse, actually unclogging my mind, but filling my heart with a sensation of being caressed. I didn’t let go. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. His hold was too forthright. Too binding. Too overtaking to have the strength.  
We stopped at a tent. He let go of my hand and lifted the large leaves acting as a canopy to possibly shield it from anyone who might have tried to trespass his privatised area. He unzipped the front to crouch and voyage inside.  
I followed on after him, though the structure seemed unsafe, hanging by hinges that looked easy to dissemble. I was half expecting it to collapse on our head as I sat on an orange beanbag that had shredded and lost solidness and height.  
There was a chopped tree trunk in the centre as a makeshift coffee table. Jake began squeezing fresh fruit on the top, which he’d cut open with a homemade sharp device that looked to be made from clean slate and twisted twine. Two plastic cups were filled with the extract of orange pulp, mixed together with a fizzing bottle of water, stirred with a jagged wooden stick.  
I tasted my drink first. It was thirst quenching and refreshing, making me tingle me the way down to my stomach and cooling my dehydrated lips.

“Are you…homeless Jake?” I couldn’t help but ask. It’d been bugging at me ever since we found the tent.

He grinned and squeezed more fruit “Would you mind if I was?”

“No.” I croaked.” I just…hate to think of you sleeping out here alone every night.”

He continued stirring his cup, adding a sachet of something with a swift shake before I could see what it was. “Good of you to think of me, but I think I can take care of myself” There was no anger in his tone, just pure confidence.

He gulped on his drink, emptying his plastic cup then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
I looked around at the hanging clothes and the systematic way he’d placed everything in each well ordered corner of the tent, how everything was symmetrical down to the way he aligned his various shoes.  
There were wood carving dotted around the tent. Maybe made from oak or sandalwood. There was one that my eyes always reverted back to with an unspoken question on my lips. It was in the shape of a female. Not a woman, but a girl my age, with spread wings and a promising look of refinement. Her long dress was bandaged around her waist like a belt of protection; her shapely legs were in some mid dance step or twirl. Her arms were raised above her head and arched as a graceful heart.

“Did you make that?” I pointed.

He looked over at the wooden statue and nodded briefly, then glanced at me to see my reaction. As if he assumed I was going to find it improbable.

“So…who is it?” I asked cautiously, but with too much curiosity to bite my tongue.

“Just someone I imagined,” He took a hold of it and rubbed his thumb along the wings, His admiring gaze signifying it meant more to him than he was probably revealing to even himself.

“Here.” He placed it in front of me. “I want you have it.”

“No I couldn’t.” I gasped. “You made it.”

“That’s why I want you to have it.” He smiled. But the kind that didn’t even reach the eyes.

“Something to remember me by.” 

I wanted to tell him I was going to need it to remember him when I was gone, but took it anyway. 

“Thanks,” I muttered, unsure what else to say and how to hide my sudden nerves. He was staring at me in a way that said his gift was more than a parting gesture, that he was marking me in some way. Sealing a deal. Making absolute sure that I knew it. 

“I made this one for you.” He placed a hand in his pocket and picked out a carved ring, thinly sliced with an inlay of aqua marine coloured gems that reminded me of his eyes.

“I found the stones,” he said. “Someone left a pile of them on gravestone at the cemetery.”

“You stole them?” I asked, now not so touched.

“I don’t think they planned on wearing them.” He joked.  
“But they might have meant something Jake. They might have symbolised something.”  
He looked away as if to whisper something to someone behind him, or as if he’d expected the dead person he had stolen from to appear and make him eat grit and stones.  
“Here, try it,” he said, handing it to me, his face a changed mask of nothing.  
It fit neatly around my middle finger. As if he had known exactly what size to carve it. I chose not to complain. It was the thought that had to count.  
“It’s…”   
He waited for me to finish with stagnant eyes.

“…Just how I like it.”

He blinked and peered down, seeming disappointed.

I kissed him on the cheek before I could change my mind. It must have startled him. He actually jerked his head and looked speechless.

“That’s for everything,” I mumbled with a fidgety smile.

For a moment he looked ready to say something. Maybe include me in something important. But he broke away from my smouldering gaze to clap his hands and rub them together. “How about another drink?” He seemed uncomfortable, turning to gather his clothes and heap them into a neater pile.

“I’m ok,” I told him. Though I knew he wasn’t listening. “Can I ask you something?” I was no longer able to keep inside what was eating at me.

There was a long abbreviated silence.

“You wanna know how I got like this right?” He asked, still busying himself with his dirty laundry.

It took a long moment for me to reply with a yes, feeling ashamed to be asking him such a personal question.

“My folks got divorced” He began quietly.

“I moved from Milwaukee to live with my aunt.” He began to sift through the things on his sleeping bag.

“She croaked and so the house got repossessed. I’ve chosen to stay out here until I can figure out what to do next.”

He said it all like a pre-written speech, with no feelings attached.

“Why don’t you contact your parents’? They must be worried about you.”

He took his t-shirt off to change, replacing it with the shirt that had gold buttons on the sleeves with the letter J. I tried to look away as he undressed himself, but failed in the attempt.

“My mom’s a heroin addict.” He spat. “My dad hasn’t given me the time of day since I was born. Besides, I’d rather sleep on some park bench than see either one of them again.”

He kept his head down, pretending to ties the lace of his sneakers.

“I’m sorry Jake,” I said, feebly.

“I’m happy this way,” he said tight lipped. “No one bothers me, tells me how to live. I’m my own boss and that’s the way I like it.”

I watched him untie his other lace to tie it again.

“Don’t you get…lonely out here by yourself?” It was a dumb question to ask.

“Why? Are you offering to stay with me?” He asked, suppressing a slur in his delectable tone.

“No.” I flustered, biting my lip.

“Then there’s no need to ask the question?” He smiled, sitting back down beside me so that I could hear his erratic heartbeat.

“Still hungry?” He asked, his voice taking on a deep raucous sound, as if he was speaking under his breath, but was easy for me to hear.

“I have dinner waiting later,” I said, dully

“You don’t sound that excited about dinner” He mocked, saying ‘dinner’ like it was with a member of royalty.

“Is it that obvious?” I asked, trying not to peer over at him. and see the same look in his eyes that told me he was expecting me melt like an ice cube.

I could see him nod sympathetically.

“Why don’t you give dinner tonight a miss too? We’ll go for a bite to eat now then grab something later.”

I must have had ‘How will you afford it’ written all over my face.

“It’s okay” He smiled assuring me. “I have cash to spare”

“I wouldn’t want to make things worse for you. Let’s just go for lunch,” I jabbered.

He stood and reached out his hand to me.

“Let’s go.” He grinned. 

“I’m taking you out on a date.”  



	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

I followed Jake onto an open road that was dead as a mortuary. The sidewalks were uneven and lined with sparse confectionary stores, a goldsmith and a hair salon, with only one blue haired middle-aged woman sat perched on a stool getting her hair done.   
There was a diner next door to it, pink and Cadillac looking with pointed signs and a curving roof. The name ‘Sully’s’ flashed with the ‘u’ missing.  
Jake opened the door for me. It had a square window and frill curtains in matching white and pink. The opening times were written besides huge puckered lips.  
I let Jake walk ahead of me once we were inside. Everyone turned to look as we made our way to a table in the corner. It didn’t keep onlookers from staring and whispering pretty audibly.  
The booth had a table covered with a plastic coated cloth, blue and out of place among the dolly pink. Even the salt and pepper shakers were wearing cowboy hats. The menus were a pair of blue tassel cowboy boots.   
“I told you.” Jake cringed, looking at the menu then putting it down to look at me.  
“I like it.” I wasn’t lying. It was quirky, full of loony characters and butterball town’s folk.   
There were a group of giggling girls at a table to our left, having some sort of food fight with a red haired boy named Jason. I knew from the amount of times it was screamed across the room. At the front, beside the bar, two boys kicked at the jukebox, another two were in headlock, and a waitress who looked to be still in elementary school ran out of the kitchen, hitting them both with a wet dish cloth.  
“It’s never dull that’s for sure,” Jake said, slipping out of his torn denim jacket.  
“Do you come here often?”   
“No,” he said, too quickly. “I was desperate,” He smirked. “As you know”  
I twirled my hair and tried not to blush as I so often did these days.  
A waitress with hair in a sky-scraping beehive came over to the table. Her pale blue uniform was too itty bitty, and pinching her not so modest parts above the neckline of her corset fitted waist. Her red buckle belt looked set to ping at any moment.  
Jake didn’t notice. He kept his eyes firmly on me, where I could always see them, taking in my every emotion that must’ve slipped over my face to make him smile like it was entertaining.  
I ordered the saddleback special and a cream soda. Jake asked for the same, then handed her the menus. She chewed on her gum and asked if anything else was needed. A ploy, I think, to make Jake look at her. When he didn’t, she walked away, clipping her kitten heels on the buffered floor and wriggling her behind as an added benefit for the many hoots and call over the gobbling sounds of hungry patrons.  
Jake lowered his head to open his mouth and speak to me, but my attention had re-directed itself to the opening of the doorway and the svelte, but brooding presence that walked effortlessly toward the bar to speak intimately to one of the waitresses.  
The middle aged, too old to be giggling so much out in the open waitress, shied away from conversing way up-close as she slapped his arm playfully, keeping her hands comfortably at a reaching position throughout the whole course of lip to ear discussion. Her cheeks flushed, making her sallow completion looked more youthful, but still drooped like full pockets.   
She served a drink without charging a dime, laughing along to what was muttered with barely open lips. The chaotic table of girls called out his name as if he was the world’s biggest celebrity to grace the streets of Boringville.  
Of course it was Edward. Who else could be such a chauvinistic ass and get away with it?  
He hadn’t seen me, thankfully, but I couldn’t control the zealous beating of my heart, racing ahead of my held breath. I looked down to find my palms were sweaty. My hands trembled by their own accord. I placed them under my thighs and finally remembered to bring my attention back to Jake. But he was peering over at the other table, at Edward in particular, never once caring if he was caught rudely staring.  
Luckily, the waitress arrived with our food, slamming the greasy hot plates and cold drinks onto the table. “Enjoy,” she spluttered, chewing on her gum and leaving to approach another calling table.  
I poked a fork in my cherry tomato. I had no intention of eating it though, not just yet, not while Edward lingered like an off-putting smell.  
“Do you know that guy?” Jake asked, eating his meal like it was his last.  
“He lives at the Manor.” There was no reason to hide it.  
His eyes narrowed at me as he took a long gulp from his can of soda.  
“Is he your boyfriend?” He almost choked.  
“What?” I almost choked on a piece of spinach. “No. He’s not.”   
“An ex?” He raised a brow, his eyes impatient.  
“No.” I laughed nervously.   
“Then why the glint?” he asked with a detached tone.  
“Glint?” I was afraid something might have slipped from my mouth without me knowing.  
“In your eyes,” he said, like I was a dumb. “When he appeared just now?”  
I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t. I opened my can of soda and took a couple of pious gulps to fill the silence.  
“I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, returning to his meal. “It’s your business who you’re attracted to.”  
“I’m…” I cringed. “I’m not attracted to him.” The word “attracted” seemed to cut at my tongue. “Besides, he’s my great aunt’s son. That makes us related.”   
He raised a brow again.  
“But we’re not related by blood. It’s through marriage.”   
“Fine.” He shrugged, brushing off my uneasy response. “I’m just telling you what I see, that’s all. Real cousin or not.” He glanced back at Edward again. “You don’t seem to be his only admirer.” He sounded way too happy about that.  
Edward had everyone’s attention, even the male diners had gathered around the table. He was in the middle of arm wrestling one of them, winning plain and easy, and taking the fifty dollars from a fuming guy’s fist and stuffed it into his front jeans pocket.  
“He’s kind of an ass,” I said, a little too madly. “I think the only admiration he has is for himself.”   
“You sound jilted.”   
“No. Just forewarned.”  
“His loss.” He drank his soda and slammed down the hollow can.  
“I know.” I kicked myself for saying it out loud, twice more when I snuck another peek at Edward’s table , only to see him grinning up at a girl with vibrant red bouncing curls, and a tank top with sexy jean shorts. The smile was confirmed as having a worse affect than his voice. It was charming, the kind that showed you he was enjoying your company and listening to your every word like he appreciated you just as much.   
I wasn’t sure if I was experiencing some crazy attraction or a spell holding me captive to the unattainable, and just when I thought I had it all figured out, he spotted me from the corner of his eye. His smile slowly faded, turning into a vacant stare, a fearful haunt of beautiful, but angry eyes. But something was different this time. They held a smidge of interest to watch me longer than necessary, just the way he did at the in the bathroom.  
One of the blonde girls followed his gaze. I turned before I was caught smouldering like I had a pathetic high school crush.  
“We can go now if you like?” Jake had all but finished his meal. Mine lay mostly untouched.  
“If you’re ready.”   
“You’ve hardly touched your food.” He nodded at my full plate.  
“I’ve lost my appetite. I’ll have it to go.”   
He asked a waitress to doggy bag my meal like an infant, then stood to put on his jacket.  
I took the six dollars from my purse that I owed and placed it on the table, refusing to let him pay for me. He didn’t put up much of a fight.   
When the waitress returned with my food, he sounded in just as big of a hurry to leave —if that was possible. He handed me the bag. He didn’t seem annoyed, just unable to keep still.   
I stood and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry Jake. I’m just not feeling myself right now. I must’ve caught something.” My excuse was even pathetic.  
He smiled, the kind that was full of pity. “As long as it doesn’t catch you first, I think you’ve a chance,” he added, losing the apish smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think. Any typos? Good start?


End file.
